Some with Traps
by Caelta
Summary: In the life of Aurora Auriga Sinistra, things were never easy.  For example: falling in love was a lot like tripping on the first step to the astronomy tower and plummeting down all 161 of the rest only to land, conveniently, face-first.
1. Aries: Rising Action

This is without a doubt inspired by She's A Star, and all collaborators, who helped to bring this pairing to life. If you haven't read her work, get thee hence! (No, seriously. What are you waiting for? Wouldn't you rather read the father of all Snape/Sinistra before you read it's lovechild?) As long as you promise to come back, that is. That being said, there are a lot (and I mean A LOT) of throwbacks to her work in Lamentations. Kudos if you can spot them all. :) Also, and I promise I'm almost finished, you should know that I have decided that this is meant to be during what would be Harry's fifth year at Hogwarts. Thanks to all readers and reviewers, because you guys are amazing and I can't thank you enough.

Disclaimer: ...do I look like J.K. Rowling? Since most of you can't see me, I'll go ahead and answer that: I don't. Therefore, sadly, I do not own anything except for a propensity to torture the characters as I please.

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><p><em>"Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps."<em>

_-Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing_

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><p>Aries: Rising Action<p>

Aurora Auriga Sinistra was, for all intents and purposes, very adept at performing what magical prowess was required of her and even, on occasion, at following orders. She was a perfectly normal and well-functioning individual of society, thank you very much.

She could name every constellation known to man, had learned to cast a Patronus during only her fourth year, and prided herself on being able to read late into the night like nobody's business with no ill effects to her health or her retention.

When it came to sports, however, Aurora had to admit that she was not particularly skilled. In fact, she considered this quite the understatement.

Honestly, what was so thrilling, so get-up-at-the-crack-of-dawn-to-go-scream-your-lungs-out-in-the-freezing-cold exciting, about putting children on fast-moving flying objects and watching then lob a ball through hoops? If she had it her way, she'd never go to another Quidditch match as long as she lived, but somehow events never seemed to play out in her favor.

This was why, she mused as she dragged herself and her broom up to the courtyard, it made absolutely no sense for anyone in their right mind to trust her with a broomstick, let alone tell her to fly around and move things with one.

Then again, she was never too sure that Albus Dumbledore was ever in his right mind to begin with.

"Oh, God, I'm going to break my neck," she groaned, watching her breath fog out before her.

"Oh? It would be a great service to us all, I'm sure."

She glared back at her partner-in-crime, tempted to swat at him but not quite tempted enough to remove her hands from the protection of her pockets. His habitual uniform of all black, from his greasy hair right down to his boots, contrasted almost painfully with the blanket of white smothering every inch of available grounds and roofing.

Normally, it would have been Madam Hooch's job to zip around like a maniac stringing gaudy Christmas decorations at abysmal heights that were extremely, Aurora was convinced, _un_beneficial to one's health. This year, she didn't think the woman would be doing much zipping at all, let alone setting up an excessive light display.

Being the Quidditch coach and all, Hooch's job description probably included a lot of high risk. As it was, she had been hit, perhaps not-so-innocently—seeing as she had just been asked to settle a dispute of foul play concerning jinxes and quaffles and had ruled in favor of Ravenclaw (and not Slytherin)—by a stray bludger and was thusly incapacitated just in time for the task of dangerous decorating to be assigned to none other than Aurora Sinistra.

And, of course, Snape.

Who, she suspected, was going to be utterly no help.

Alas, yet another reason for her to despise Quidditch. She had always known it was an evil sport.

And, also to be jealous of Flitwick, who was, each consecutive year, given the oh-so-arduous task of levitating ornaments onto a tree in the Great Hall. Which, considering his propensity to be vertically challenged and to teach the most _un_charming class in the school—in her opinion—next to perhaps Potions, was quite the accomplishment.

"So, um…where do we start?" She felt rather dumb for having asked it, but anything that delayed her straddling a dust-sweeping death-trap of destruction was well worth it.

Snape only glanced at her, looking peeved—when _didn't_ he look peeved—and mounted his own broomstick, which, consequently, looked a good bit newer and safer than hers. For a moment, she was resentful of the suave way he kicked off from the ground and floated his way up a few inches, hovering there like he'd been riding brooms every day of his life—but that was before she concluded that "Snape" and "suave" did not belong together in the same sentence.

"I believe, given the circumstance, that I shall leave to you the responsibility of ornamenting the Astronomy tower," he smirked. "It is indeed rather fitting, don't you agree?"

Oh, she could have killed him. _Killed_ him. Performed every Unforgivable she knew and hexed him into a million pieces and thrown him into the lake.

The Astronomy tower, as everyone well knew, was the highest point in the school. This was a truth she didn't much mind and in fact even appreciated when stargazing (though perhaps not when climbing the stairs), but as it turned out, looking up at the sky and actually being _in_ it, supported by nothing but an ancient bewitched stick with a few bristles at the end, were two separate things entirely.

"Severus," she pleaded, eyes flashing. "Absolutely not. No way. Not a chance in _hell_."

He lifted a single taunting eyebrow, unimpressed.

"Severus, no. Just no. _No_. No!"

Still, the eyebrow. "Oh, _dear_," he ground out between his venomous teeth, "an Astronomy professor afraid of heights? My, we _are_ full of surprises."

"Not just heights. Astronomical heights. And my own inability to fly or stay on top of a broom. I'm not exactly Quidditch captain, you know."

He hovered up a few more feet just to mock her, she was sure. "Obviously," he droned.

"Severus, I'm so serious right now it's not even funny. If you put me on a broom, I will die. The last time I flew was in my first year at Hogwarts when we were required to take flying lessons, and I only kicked up, jumped a few feet, got jostled around, and dropped back down for a passing grade. The end."

The expression on his face was just as icy as ever when he replied, "I fail to see how any of this pertains to my…caring."

Kill. _Kill_. She was going to _kill_ him.

Surely, Dumbledore wouldn't mind if his best snarky Potions professor went missing for awhile, right?

Well, maybe he would.

Aurora sighed. By now, she was ready to cry, and her hands were frozen to the handle of the broom she was now having trouble gripping properly. "Severus, please." Her voice took on a pouty pre-cry note, and if reiterating his name didn't get the point across, then maybe his loathing of being sobbed on would.

Then again, he _did_ enjoy the suffering of others.

"Slip your mind, did it, informing the Headmaster of your…_trepidation_?"

Truly, his dramatic pauses were the bane of her existence, and she was pretty sure he knew that, too. She was certain he could send Quirrell on a run for his money in taking twenty years to finish a sentence.

"Don't think I didn't try," grumbled Aurora. "But you know how he is better than I do. He thinks butterscotch and toffee cures everything. Absolutely mental. Genius, mind you, but…well."

He frowned, then, in a way that was actually quite normal instead of his usual contorted scowl, and contemplated the trail of their footprints back towards the castle entrance. In the time it took him to do this, she realized that he wasn't planning on answering her in any way, shape or form besides staring creepily into the distance, and so took it upon herself to do the only thing she could do in such a situation: lump up a ball of wet snow and hurl it at his chest.

Naturally, it wound up smacking him pleasantly in the face.

For a moment, he blinked in her general direction, his face devoid of anything save dazed shock and, of course, the explosion of snow that was slowly sliding down his chin and dropping off at intervals. It was highly probable that he'd never been hit with an innocent snowball in his entire life, except perhaps by the Weasley twins.

Or Sirius.

Or James.

Or anyone who'd ever had him as a professor.

But who was counting?

Somehow, Aurora knew she should have been running in fear of her life right about then, but she was also a tad busy being doubled over in laughter to think of such things.

Common sense finally caught up to her as she saw him start to approach her with what looked like incurable rage, but unfortunately, grace and agility did _not_. Stumbling backwards with a few errant giggles, she felt her ankle hindered by an entrapment of snow, tripped over the end of her broomstick, flailed in a very unflattering manner, and landed with gusto on the center of her broom, which twisted with her momentum and sent her sailing full-speed towards the exact man she was attempting to distance herself from.

In the end, she wasn't much sure how she'd accomplished it, but she found herself sprawled over the Potions Master in a very compromising position indeed, her hands on his chest and one of his brushing at her thigh, covered in snow and breathing like she'd just run a marathon.

If anyone had happened across them in this circumstance, there would have been no mercy from the rumor-mill.

"Ugh…" was all she could muster.

For ten seconds exactly, they stared. For another five, she panicked until she realized that the painful object digging into her hip was her broom. For about two, he looked incredibly livid.

"Get off," he ordered, a bit louder than necessary.

He needn't tell her twice. In one swift motion that she was actually quite proud of, she rolled off of him, stood, and swept up her broom. The only thing that made this untimely and not-quite-redeeming fluidity a little less satisfactory was the fact that she was shivering so violently it might have looked like she was suffering from uncontrollable convulsions.

Needless to say, she doubted he'd be cutting her a break anytime soon. Resigning herself, she held out a hand which he—_so_ unexpectedly—ignored in favor of hauling himself to his feet with a muffled groan.

"Sorry," she hazarded, trying to sound as apologetic as possible. "I mean, I did tell you so, but…really. Sorry about that. You alright?"

Snape only cut her a distasteful look, haughtily brushing off the flecks of snow that still stuck to his—face it, already doomed—hair. She couldn't help but notice that he'd missed a few.

"Fine," he said tersely.

"Oh. That's good, then." It came out a bit more flat than intended, and she decided she might as well sign herself off as a lost cause. Honestly, she must have been hell-bent on getting herself killed.

Steeling herself for just about anything, Aurora hopelessly stood over her broomstick, feet set apart, fully intending to never let go of the handle. Remembering flying instructions from over a decade ago proved to be just as difficult as she thought it would be: nearly impossible.

Knees bent.

Back straight.

Elbows inward.

Lean forward.

…was she supposed to be leaning forward yet? Or was that _after_ she was already up in the air?

Up in the air. _Oh, Merlin_. She felt sick.

A sudden hand on her shoulder had her squealing and whirling around, whacking Snape in the shoulder with the end of her broom.

Again.

"Oh! Oh, my God, Severus, I-you-so sorry-what-"

"Please be quiet," he snapped.

She obeyed. At least he'd said "please." Progress, at last.

"Lean back." The hand that was still on her shoulder directed her—_gently?_—into exactly which posture he wanted, and she felt the edge of his robes tickling her arm from the proximity.

Her skin might have risen up in gooseflesh if it wasn't already doing just that. As it was, a minute little shudder ran down the length of her vertebral column and was subsequently ignored due to the fact that it was bone-chillingly cold. She _deserved_ to shiver a little, after all. It was inhuman not to.

"Feet closer together, if you please," he instructed.

Reluctantly, she dragged her feet a few inches closer. His hand had now left her shoulder and travelled down to both of her own, gently—yes, _gently!_—repositioning them a bit farther up the shaft of the gnarled broomstick.

_Merlin's beard_, his hands were warm. Perhaps he was a werewolf in secret?

He couldn't verily hide that from her, could he?

"Stop strangling it."

She blinked. "Erm…what?"

"A broom is not going to listen to you if you are, shall we say, attempting to assault it, Aurora." He explained it out like she was about three, and she hated it with a passion.

"Oh. Alright." But she'd be damned of she'd admit it to him. "Touchy things, aren't they?"

"They are, in effect, attuned to your every shift of weight and motion of wrist, so, yes, naturally." Was that supposed to insult her intelligence? "Touchy," he agreed.

"Right."

It was then, as his thumb was half-prying, half-massaging her indestructible frozen-in-place grip to loosen, that she made the mistake of looking up at him.

At his face.

At his eyes.

Not a trace of a malicious snarl in sight. Ironically, it was a bit terrifying.

And there was still snow in his hair.

Her second mistake? Reaching up a hand—what _was_ she thinking?—and combing it out. _Combing_ it out. I.e., running her fingers through Snape's hair. _Snape's_ hair.

It was not a place one willingly put one's fingers.

Her conclusion? She was barking. Irrevocably, incontrovertibly insane beyond all reason.

She was rather certain his thoughts were working along the same pattern.

And then there was this chilling, unbearable moment where obsidian met green and she swore she saw the confusion and uncertainty swimming around in those dark pools that must have been mirrored in her own, and, _God_, he was a normal human being.

How could she live with herself, knowing he was an actual person like the rest of them?

At that point, her conscience was screaming:

Awkward. _Weird_.

Run away.

Must. Break. Tension.

"Um…" she choked out meekly. "Hi."

_Dear Merlin, we're doomed._

His eyes narrowed. Her hand lowered…

…and brushed across his cheek on the way down. _All_ the way across.

Accident…? Oops.

Phenomenal, her tact. It was just about as bad as watching a turtle trying to cross a busy highway. Granted, she'd never seen a turtle actually crossing a highway and probably wouldn't stop to stare if she did, not that she spent much time around highways, seeing as she wasn't a muggle, but her point still stood.

Snape twitched. His facial muscles contracted and he actually _twitched_.

It had high levels of comic potential. She was pretty sure she might have been on the ground in tears if not for the…dissatisfying tension.

"Focus, if you don't mind." It wasn't very clear whether he was speaking to her or to himself. Perhaps both, she decided. "You might actually begin to learn something of value. That must sound _strange_ to you."

Alright, so that last part was definitely all her.

"I'm all ears," she grinned cheerfully. Overcompensation never hurt anyone, did it?

He let out a rather put-upon sigh, backing up a few steps in the process, and she found this made her shiver all over again.

Because it was cold, of course.

"Listen to me, Aurora, _very_ carefully. Do exactly as I say, _when_ I say it. Is this clear?"

"Crystal," she remarked aptly. As he should, he ignored her stupendous abilities to make a fool of herself and continued.

"Let us hope. Keep your knees bent. _No._ Too much."

"This good?"

"As it will get, for you. Now, I will explain this only once, so _pay attention_. You need to be on your toes. Your weight is on your toes. Repeat that back to me, if you please."

"I'm not _four_, Severus."

"_Repeat_."

Aurora rolled her eyes, noting that his mood had dipped into the foul spectrum. "On my toes, got it."

"Good. Next, you should not be holding yourself up by the waist. Lean into your palms, or you _will_ get thrown off. _No_, Aurora. Do _not_ lean forward."

"You said _lean!_"

"On the contrary, I believe I told you to lean into your palms. _Not_ forward," he growled, coming nearer to straighten her posture, this time a little less ginger about it.

"What's the difference?"

"The _difference_ is that, if you follow my directions, you will not break your fragile spine. Keep your arms straight for the moment, but the weight will be on your palms."

"And my toes."

"…_yes_," he sneered. "_And_ your toes. Arms straight, but not locked. Your elbows should be flexible."

"M'kay. Keep going, Professor. I might actually pass my O.W.L."

She could see his jaw clench, but he said nothing. "Next, to lift off the ground, roll back onto your heels and _bounce_. Do not_ push_. Do not _shove_. Do not _stand_. _Bounce_. When you are in the air, you will maintain _this_ position."

"Um…" The very moment he uttered the word _air_, she felt her stomach lurch. She was going to be in the _air_.

"I assume you have something to say…?"

"Er…" Suddenly, her throat was very dry. "Are you sure-I mean…I don't really…"

An eyebrow quivered upwards. "Yes…?" he said irritably.

"I, uh…maybe I'll just go back to Albus and tell him-"

"You will do _no such thing_, Aurora."

"But-"

Snape stepped forward again, this time grasping the center of her broomstick, challenging her with a hearty glower to dare doubt him. "_Bounce_."

"Are you sure? I mean, you've got me?"

If possible, his stare darkened into a full-on death-glare. It wasn't quite the "yes, of course, darling, I wouldn't let anything hurt you!" but, honestly, what did she expect? Impatient and ill-bred as the gesture was, it helped. A little bit.

"I mean, what if I speed off and just sorta…take you with me?" It could happen.

"You won't, if you follow my directions," he shot back coolly.

She squeezed her eyes shut. "Alright, then. Here goes nothing."

Balancing precariously, the witch was only half aware of holding her breath as she rolled back, hips and all, onto her heels. Her fingers tightened around the neck of her trusty steed the stick, until she remembered not to strangle it. Heard whirling, feeling a little dizzy, she opened her eyes and…

…and nothing happened.

She was still flat on the ground.

"Uh…" Aurora looked at Snape, expectantly. "What did I d—oh_myGod, Severus!_"

In turning to him, rocking back to her toes to begin anew and fully anticipating his rather disappointing…well, disappointment, it happened. Somehow—and for the life of her, she had no idea how—she was airborn.

And grasping at Snape's collar like no tomorrow.

And losing her balance.

"_Merlin_, I'm so going to kill us!" she hissed emphatically, still clinging to him.

"Ah, yes. A foot off the ground. Highly dangerous."

He must have gone bonkers. It was the only explanation. Had he no inclination of the utter destruction she could cause with just a stick, let alone one that flew?

A foot off the ground might as well have been fifty.

At length, Aurora came to the discovery that she was, rather obnoxiously, still hanging onto Snape's neck, half off her broom and clutching tragically at his robes. Additionally, she made the observation that, due to his firm grip just below the apex of her broomstick, she was embarrassingly unlikely to be swooping even a few inches without his permission. A tad humbled, and feeling her cheeks growing warm even under freezing conditions, she went about carefully picking herself off of the less-than-pleased Potions Master and taking up his formerly described position.

"Sorry," she mumbled, more to her broom than his face.

Unsurprisingly, his only answer was to scoff a bit disdainfully.

"So,uh…what do I do with my feet, exactly?" Aurora cringed.

"Nothing."

"N-nothing? What's that s-"

"There is a technique practiced by Quidditch captains and the like which I highly doubt you have the poise to master, and neither is it required for stringing holiday decorations. In case you weren't aware, time _is_ of the essence."

Time. Right.

Banking on courage, she gave no further interruption as he first taught her how to coax her broom into some form of movement—smooth gliding for him and jerky licks of speed for her—and then how to properly land and dismount. The age on her broom, property of the school, meant that it was "wretchedly slow," according to Snape, but as far as she was concerned that was just peachy. The slower, the better.

Through his—rather surly—guidance, she began, little by little, to trust herself at least enough to enjoy spitting in gravity's face. Once she was actually up in the air, something she never would have imagined thinking without due nausea, it wasn't all that bad. Granted, the wind was of a mind to freeze her solid, inciting in her a wish that she'd worn goggles or at least gloves, but from a bird's-eye view the school was in reality quite a spectacular sight.

"You know," she petitioned him secretively, "I'm a little surprised people aren't required to have licenses to ride these things."

"Is that so?" He wasn't amused in the slightest.

"Yeah. What with people like me in the world, disasters waiting to happen, just _asking_ to crash into the first immovable object within reach."

He looked at her pointedly. "I wasn't aware that there _were_ people like you in the world."

It was an insult. Of course it was an insult. He meant to offend her, and she was royally offended.

Except, there was something missing, maybe a finalization in tone or depth to his squinted glare that just didn't give that usual kick, his mockery, like he was mercilessly laughing at her behind his shroud of defiance, and there was none of that "who do you think you are and what the hell did you just say to me" feeling like the oh-so-common breathless plunge into an argument that only ever escalated.

Instead, there was a void, and she could tell he felt it too when he broke eye contact and looked away. Her imagination, gallant as always, toiled to fill that empty space with a meaning.

But no. He could've have meant it, not like _that._ The day Severus Snape said anything like _that_ to _anyone_ would be the day purebloods and halfbloods would kiss and make up, the day Hagrid would win the battle against a comb and his hair, and the day dementors would turn pink and start handing out daisies.

Although she was sure that if it was up to Dolores Umbridge, dementors would already be pink anyway.

"And you're King of England?" Aurora quipped, feeling altogether like her comeback's relevance factor averaged about zero.

Snape, however, didn't look like he much cared. In fact, the glance he supplied her with seemed oddly…thankful, as if relieved of some complicated and gratuitous explanation. It was around that time she prohibited her imagination from further inquiry.

"Prince."

"Excuse me?" she asked, because she could think of no explanation for what she'd just heard other than she'd heard him wrong.

"Prince," he said again, grinding it through his teeth like he regretted saying it the first time. "Incidentally, it was my mother's maiden name."

Aurora blinked, mulled it over, and blinked again. Since she was born with the very same curse of possessing an alliterating name, she didn't blame him for preferring Prince. "Oh. That's…quaint."

Because he _had_ said it like he owned it.

"Yes," he answered, bitter and silky. "_Quaint_."

But…but something told her there was more to it than the trifling issue of a name that sounded like Parseltongue. _Ownership_, like he was more his mother than his father could take credit for, like he earned the title _Prince_ more than even the _real_ prince of England.

By the time she was through contemplating it—and a bit horrified that she _had_ been contemplating anything that resembled Snape's personal life—the entire top half of the castle shone like a beacon.

Only Merlin knew _why_ he'd bequeathed to her this little shot of information, because even he had looked a good bit surprised to have said it, but it nipped at her all the way back to the entrance to the castle.


	2. Taurus: Prince Charming

Yes, yes-this one's much shorter. I confess. It's also a bit more serious, but only a bit: you won't have to squint to find the funny, I swear. Other than that, thanks to all who waited this one out, and also to those who reviewed. I'd like to give a shout-out to all my creepers out there who favorited and/or alerted as well, because those are just as exciting. What can I say? I'm a sucker for reviews and such. Anyway, enjoy!

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><p>Taurus: Prince Charming<p>

"You sure you aren't trying to go after Madam Hooch's job this time?" she poked lightly, stamping her feet and watching the slush keenly drop off.

Snape, consequently, only sneered objectionably.

"You'd make a pretty capable flight instructor," she continued to inform him, trailing after him towards the nearest broom closet. "Not that you aren't a capable Potions professor or anything. And not that you wouldn't make a fair Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, either…just, you know, saying."

"How _thrilling_," he launched over his shoulder. "Perhaps you might inform our dear Headmaster of that notion."

"Hey, I'm on _your_ side." So now Snape had a _side_? "I mean, you know he doesn't refuse you because he doesn't trust you. Honestly, the man doesn't just trust you with his life—he trusts you with everyone _else's_ life as well. That's pretty major. …not that I don't think you should be trusted or anything. So, like I said; it isn't that _he_ doesn't trust you…it's just that everyone _else_ doesn't trust you. Which, normally, you might just expect these people to have a little faith in _his_ faith since they trust _him_ so much…but, y'know, that only goes so far. I guess putting you in that position is…a little too far."

By this time, they had deposited their broomsticks in the correct cupboard and were well on their way to the dungeons, her tagging behind his long, billowing stride with her shorter, more clipped version, catching to his sleeve as he ignored her.

"The concept is unusually splendid," he remarked smoothly, sarcasm unmistakable. "Perhaps, then, you might advertise my brilliant ability to be trusted to this…other _side_."

He'd noticed that too, huh? She sighed.

"And get locked up in St. Mungo's? Ha! I think not!"

His eyes narrowed. "Flattering."

"Oh, no, no, no! I didn't mean it like _that_!" She quickly side-stepped the shutting door and slid inside his office at his heels, unperturbed. "It's just, if I start going on about how you're so wonderful and trustworthy and the perfect man for the position, you just _know_ that the _sex_ rumors will start to fly. I mean, they might not put me away for trying to pass it off that you _don't_ bite children's heads off and eat their livers for breakfast, but they _will_ consider me justifiably nuts if word gets around that I'm sleeping with you. …uh, which I'm not, just…in case you didn't know."

In an instant, he spun around with a stare so intense she felt her insides flop over into tingly, quivering goo. If she were to measure—which she most certainly did _not_—then she'd say his nose was about an inch away from colliding with hers, and far beyond any level of meaning to the words _comfort zone_.

"Professor Sinistra," he challenged her in a breathy snarl. "Do you not have more _pressing_ matters to attend to?"

In other words, go away. She smiled.

It must have been disconcerting, because he wavered for a moment.

"Other than bother your knickers off, you mean? …figuratively speaking. Actually no, not really. I'm all yours."

"Lucky me." He gave a visible display of curling his lip and turned away abruptly.

Funny. She'd always imagined his breath as anything akin to rancid and malodorous, judging by his everyday appearance, yet interestingly enough…it was unmistakably normal.

Aurora was inclined to give a short laugh before she could stop herself at the mental image of everyone's favorite Potions professor brushing his teeth and flossing, and he flashed her a scowl for her trouble.

As he sank into the chair of his desk and began pouring over a list of sorts, she took it upon herself to make herself at home on the musty-smelling couch on the far wall, curling up in its corner and hugging herself for warmth.

Whoever decided that the dungeons should be used for anything apart from storage was irrevocably out of their mind—it was bloody freezing, to say the least.

"Are you cold, Severus? I'm cold," she announced, eyeing with temptation the cobwebbed fireplace some distance from her.

The look he sent her over his paper might as well have said "if you're cold, then leave."

But leave she would not. Leaving was out of the question.

Without further ado, she leapt up, drew her wand, and sparked a flame into existence, coddling it until it was a good enough size to distribute heat about the stone-walled room. For the most part, Snape paid little heed to her rustlings, and when she was satisfied, she plopped coyly back into her place on the couch, crossing her legs. Slowly, she began to feel her toes again.

"You know, Severus, it's awfully grey in here. It's really…glum. And boring."

The addressed party flicked her an eyebrow the equivalent of a "so?" and went back to reading.

"Well, I didn't mean to insult, but you could use a little redecorating in here. Do you honestly even look around when you walk in here? Because, in case you haven't noticed, it looks like there ought to be shackles and skeletons. And it doesn't help that all you have in here is this moth-eaten couch. How about a painting? Or a plant? Or some flowers?"

This time, he didn't even bother looking up.

Nonplussed, she continued. "Really, it feels like a prison down here. Do you enjoy feeling like a prisoner in your own office?"

It was then that she stopped, thinking how she'd read somewhere that people surround themselves with reflections of their feelings. Wondering if the man glowering down at the papers on his desk felt like a prisoner in his own mind she felt a chill prickle her skin, despite the fact that she was just beginning to feel much-appreciated warmth returning.

The word "creepy" didn't even begin to cover it, and she felt herself drawn back to the word "prince."

_Scoff_. Snape? Prince? If she didn't already believe it, she would be on the floor, crying in incredulous and uncontrollable laughter.

Quite the Prince Charming, he was.

Although Prince Charming was overrated, in her opinion. Aurora had met the wizarding world's own Prince Charming, answering to the name Gilderoy Lockheart, at a book signing, once, quite by accident. To tell the truth, he wasn't all that bright, or even interesting. She couldn't deny that he wrote captivating adventure stories, or that he was relatively handsome—because, who was she kidding, he was _gorgeous_—but, for some reason, she had a strong mind to doubt his verisimilitude.

A straight man _that_ beautiful, with brains? _Please_.

"Severus?"

"_Yes,_ Aurora?" came the begrudging reply.

"I think…perhaps people might trust you just a bit more, if you trusted them as well." She didn't know who she thought she was going to convince with a line like that, and certainly if it were her with some bitter chip on her shoulder she wouldn't be one to believe herself, but, she thought, one can hope.

His lips thinned as his quill, now poised over a parchment, paused. "I see."

Well, so much for that idea. Aurora drew out a long breath, toying with her wand, and shifted back to her former focus on his décor. "Well, don't say I didn't at least try to warn you. But, seriously…can we at least put some flowers in here?"

From the tip of her wand to the edge of his desk, the air shimmered with the appearance of a vase, brimming with the pristine white of fresh lilies, and a little before her nod of satisfaction she heard a scratch like ripped paper.

He attempted to glower, but as he was dissolved in a fit of sporadic coughing, it came across spectacularly weak.

"Oh, too much?" she asked, a bit sheepish as she came around to pat him on the back. "I can make it, like, just three. Or a couple. Or one. You alright, there?"

She started violently when he grabbed at her wrist, pinching her skin and half thrusting, half pulling her to the door.

"Hey, wh-"

"Get. Out. Of. My. Office."

How rude of him.

"What _are_ you on about?" she demanded.

He was leering into her face, crushing her against the doorframe and breathing ragged like an animal, madness in his eyes. She didn't think she'd ever seen him quite so irate before, and it was strangely intriguing.

Not to mention uncalled for.

Grabbing her wrist back and massaging what was likely to be a bruise, she turned reproachful to accusing. "Severus, what's the deal? If you hate flowers or something, I'll take them back. Geez. Wait, you aren't allergic to them, are you? Because if you are, I'm _so_ sorry, and-"

"Get out. Get _out_. _Out!_"

At this point, a lesser person would have been running in terror. As for Aurora, common sense had a convenient habit of deserting her at pinnacle moments.

"Absolutely not," she shot back. "No way. Not until you tell me what it is that I did wrong."

He must not have been used to having been resisted past this point, because for a moment it was all he could do to balk in horror or rage and look wildly and desperately between her and the flowers. But of course, this did not last.

Before she could even blink, his wand was up and digging into the junction of her neck and jaw, dreadfully close to her carotid.

"Get out," he whispered, voice lost to ire, "before I _kill_ you."

He was shaking, so violently she felt the tip of his wand jutting into her erratically, and she observed the liquid of his eyes and the way his lips quivered.

And then it clicked.

"Oh my God," she raked through her teeth, hitting several pitches on the way out.

_Lilies_.

How could she be so _unthinking_?

"Oh, Merlin, God, _somebody_…"

_Lily_.

Suddenly, his unadulterated hatred for The Boy Who Lived made that much more sense, and the quaking memories of his silly crush in school evolved in her mind, piecing together, spelling out even the reason why he was no longer a supporter of Voldemort.

How could she be so _callow_?

To think, all this time she thought he was only holding a grudge for James's boyish albeit malicious tricks…

She let out a small squeak, feeling her knees turn traitor, and instead of fleeing out the door and minimizing her embarrassment, she collapsed onto the man trying to push her out, the grip formerly reserved for thrusting her away now holding her up.

"Oh my God, you loved her," she whimpered into his shoulder, grasping at him as he was thrown off balance by her weight, and she felt the breath go out of him as her words hung between them.

Snape—Severus Snape—had been in love with Lily Potter. And it had taken Aurora this long to find out.

He sank to the couch, taking her with him, and dropped his wand to the floor where it rolled a few feet before stopping.

"Kindly get off of me," Snape ordered hoarsely, saner than before. She quickly obliged, shuffling to a more proper distance as he leant over, head between his knees, like he was about to be sick.

For all she knew, he could have been.

Judging by his posture, and the way his shoulders heaved with each agonal breath, Aurora was highly certain—and fairly terrified—of his being in tears. Alas, when he lifted his face a breadth for baring his teeth at the floor, there was no discernable wetness.

For that, she was relieved.

If she didn't know any better, she might say that his was a bit of an overreaction, going ballistic over flowers, but knowing him it was the first time in a long time.

Centering a hand between his shoulder blades, she proceeded to sooth circles into his back, wary of his snapping at her to leave again once he recovered himself.

Interestingly enough, it was taking longer than expected.

Minutes stretched longer with only the sound of the popping fire and her own unstable thoughts, and during this time both hands found their way to his shoulders, working vigorously to rid him of the tension she felt shivering under her fingertips. She thought that perhaps he'd forgotten her in his attempt to bore holes in the floor, but, as she soon found out, such was not the case.

Some time after she'd finally succeeded in forcing him to relax, his head snapped to look at her.

His mouth opened. Shut.

Taken aback, Aurora gave him a simple shrug. "Feeling any better?"

He gave a curt nod and sat up.

"Good. If you weren't, I might've been forced to resort to last-ditch methods."

"Go on," he said wearily, giving up his usual derision in the face of the fact that, with or without his permission, she would indeed go on.

"Oh, you know—poking you, singing obnoxious Christmas songs…that sort of thing."

He rolled his eyes. "Mm."

"What was that? Thank you? Oh, you're most welcome—any time, my pleasure. Sorry for yelling at me and threatening my life because I gave you flowers? Oh, no problem. I get that all the time, no worries."

She thought she saw a small tic at the very corner of his lips, but she couldn't be sure.

"Right. See you tomorrow, then?" She hopped to her feet, scooped up his wand, and held it out for him in hopes of a quick getaway.

"In all probability," he answered her blandly, "yes."

"Goodie," smiled Aurora sweetly.

When she left, she was pleased to note that it was under her own free will.


	3. Gemini: Stunning Charm

I will admit that this chapter is a bit late. Why, you ask? ...well, it probably has something to do with the fact that a (very pretty) storm kicked out the wonderful invention of the internet for around a couple days, for me. I do apologize. The good news is that this one is much longer! So thank you to all you wonderful people still reading and reviewing, and enjoy.

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><p>Gemini: Stunning Charm<p>

Severus Snape was a git.

A _git_.

A creepy overgrown bat that delighted in scaring students out of their wits. He was wicked and cruel and the furthest thing imaginable from pleasant.

Aurora glanced at him over her plate, down across the table where he was engaged in a very one-sided conversation with Trelawney, and quickly ducked back down to her potatoes when he looked up.

Snape was a goblin.

Snape was a goblin.

Snape was a—

"—and then proceed to lock up all the house elves while we're at it," determined Minerva at her side. "They cannot seriously expect us to just prohibit _everything_," she simmered, "or at least everything halfway enjoyable, for Godssakes. We're a _school_, not a prison, and the fact that V—well, You Know Who—is back, or has been back, doesn't change that fact. Truly, drawing excessive attention to it and marching our children around like soldiers for their own protection is the _worst_ possible thing we could do!"

For the eighteenth time that evening, Aurora let out an extensive sigh. She tried to concentrate on the conversation being directed at her—really, she did—but knowing that a _goblin_ was sitting only just a few seats down was downright distracting.

He _was_ a goblin, after all. A twisted, nasty, lurking goblin who probably spent his nights dreaming up new ways to torture children, and…

"Without proper due caution," Pomona Sprout interrupted, "I see no reason why we wouldn't be making it just as bad. Without precaution, what sort of an example would we set? Of course, I don't mean to implement anything as horrible as that _Umbridge_ woman."

…and, why was she contemplating how he spent his nights?

Ew. _Bad._ New thoughts. Happy thoughts.

There was a universal silence of unanimous hatred at the table subsequent to the mention of the name _Umbridge_. Aurora participated with pleasure.

_Goblin_. He was unfathomably rude, and never washed his hair, and kept cabinets full of jars that contained things like pig feet, and…

"Aurora dear, are you alright? You look a bit…_peaky_," Minerva observed.

…and dear God, he was a normal human being with things like feelings and emotions. _Snape._ With _emotions_.

If she hadn't seen it with her own eyes—hadn't seen him give her that _look_ full of desperate confusion, hadn't felt him slam her into a door and breath down her neck in rage, hadn't seen him tremble on a couch in the most miserable type of love there ever was—then she would never in a million years have believed it.

"She looks a bit green," put in Sprout helpfully. "Aurora, are you feeling sick at all? It wasn't the pumpkin pasties, was it? I thought they looked a little suspicious."

Aurora set down her fork in anguish and watched as it banged against her plate and went clattering to the floor.

Snape was _human_.

"I'm fine," she lied, standing with as much dignity as she could muster.

Yeah, it bothered her.

Gracefully by her standards—which translated to ungainly for everyone else's—she made a straight bee-line for the exit and vanished behind it, not daring to look back to see if he was watching her.

Who _wouldn't_ it bother, after all, finding out that the endearingly abrasive man who everyone viewed as a lost cause was—dare she think it—_normal_, at least mentally.

Well, relatively normal, anyway.

Bursting into the Astronomy tower—and promptly tripping over the last step—she must have been a very unwelcome sight to the two third-years who had apparently skipped supper to come stargaze. It might have awarded them a few points extra credit, had they not been more busy gazing into each other's eyes with a passion only a smattering of teenage lustful hormones could throw into the mix.

The frightened pair gasped in unison, yanking their hands away from each other and stumbling to their feet just as swiftly as she fell on her face.

Smooth.

Shaken, they darted one after the other down the stairs before she could even think to determine which houses she'd have to be taking points from, and she groaned into the dust.

It was an hour or so into grading papers, striving very hard to forget the events of the evening, when Aurora finally began to regret her decision to walk out from dinner, hearing her stomach give a roar that could send a dragon to its knees. She didn't particularly fancy wandering down into the kitchens to scrounge from the elves, having always considered house elves to be a rather unsettling lot, but the temptation grew as the minutes ticked by and she didn't see herself quite desperate enough to start grazing on her student's essays concerning Venus and love spells.

Irritated, she stalked her way back down towards the kitchens, feeling the hunger gnawing up the back of her throat, and skidded to a surprised halt outside the painting that marked the entrance.

The subject of said painting seemed to have been taking a little stroll about the castle, judging by his absence.

Magnificent.

Aurora bit her lip, shifted her weight, and approached warily, tapping a little at the frame. "Hello?"

Nothing. She supposed, then, that she would simply have to sit down and wait, either for the occupant of the painting to return or for an elf to come shuffling out of the kitchens. Hoping desperately that it was the former, and wanting absolutely nothing to do with house elves—ugly little creatures—she began to sit.

The painting swung open.

Somewhere between relieved and astonished, Aurora scrambled herself erect in order to properly thank her savior…

…only to slam face-first into the black woolen blockade that was Snape's chest.

"Ow!" she proclaimed intelligently, canting backwards with the force. She then recognized her assailant and tripled her amazement.

"You might like to make an attempt at grace sometime," he droned, "and save the rest of us the trouble of your disasters."

"Get over yourself," came her mumbled reply. "You walked right into me too, y'know. Besides, what are you doing? In the kitchens, I mean. And why are you holding a…what in God's name _are_ you holding?"

Whatever it was, it didn't look even remotely like it was for his health. The part that he was grasping gave a strong resemblance to roots if not for the fact that it was bright purple and wound tightly around his fingers of its own accord; it looked less like he was the one doing the holding and more like the thing he carried was holding onto _him_.

And that was only the very beginning of the unpleasantness. What she fancied as roots wound down to articulate with a plump, upside-down muffin sort of body covered in pinkish spikes, and there was an orifice at the bottom—or was it the top?—of the thing that looked vaguely like it was breathing out puffs of brown powder.

Aurora stared, and then stared some more.

Did it just _move_? She could've sworn she saw it wriggle up and down a little bit as he held it more away from him.

Next to whatever thing was hanging off of him, Snape looked like a handsome angel.

Which he most definitely was _not_.

"Horklump," he said, as if that explained everything.

"I'm sorry?" Did he get that thing from the kitchens? Merlin, if they used that thing at all in preparing things she put in her mouth… It did not look edible in the slightest. Sometimes, she had to wonder about what those elves were doing with her food; if she ever took it to the Headmaster that they were trying to poison her, she officially had evidence.

Snape, who didn't seem half as bothered by the thing dangling from his hand as she was, gave her an unsavory look and attempted to shoulder past. "This would be a horklump. Carnivorous creatures that generally grow in clusters and infest gardens, they attract gnomes. As such, they also repel ghouls. As for what I am doing with it, I do not see how that concerns you."

"Carnivorous? That thing's _carnivorous_?" Appetite officially ruined, she followed him through the Great Hall, up the stairs, down the hallway, and up again ascending the Grand Staircase.

"I believe that is in effect what I said, yes."

"Put it down! Are you crazy?"

"Clearly, that would serve no purpose."

"But it's going to devour your hand! What kind of purpose do you think _you're_ serving, handling that thing?"

"My hand is, as you may see, very much intact."

"For _now_! What are you doing with it, anyway?" By now, she had finally come to the realization that they were _not_ heading for the dungeons, which left her utterly mystified as far as divining his intentions.

Snape stopped on the stairs and swung to face her, which, incidentally, brought her face-to-face with an overgrown, flesh-eating mushroom.

Before he could even begin to get out whatever snide comment was on his tongue, she screamed—very loudly and very clearly, with more echoes than she'd ever heard in her entire life.

Screamed bloody murder, and toppled over backwards trying to back up.

With no time to react and no time to draw wands, he was on her. Faster than she could have blinked, he lunged forward and caught her wrist with his free hand, wrenching her forwards again almost violently and leading her to ram into his chest for the second time that evening.

One second she was in a brain-smashing descent for the foot of the stairs, and the next she was pressed full-body against the Potions Master, whose hand was roughly still covering her own.

She looked up, and there he was, looking down his nose at her—his big, _greasy_ nose—with that _look_. The one she'd seen only once before. The one she couldn't stand.

"Uh…" She licked her lips, her throat drying up without warning. Those cold obsidian eyes of his flicked downwards with the motion and stayed there—poised on the lips she was now biting in a flurry of self-conscious panic.

"…Professors! …Sinistra, Snape…"

They practically flew, leaping apart as if compelled by magical force, horklump and all.

Filch came hobbling down the steps to greet them. "I heard screamin'. Is everything alright, then?"

He eyed them warily, gnashing his teeth and smirking in a way that led her to believe he hoped that everything was _not_ all right at all, and she found it to be a very unnerving characteristic of his. The prospect of someone falling to their death—preferably, a student—probably excited him to no end.

Soon to follow was his cat, eyeing them just as beadily and devilishly as she brushed against her owner's ankles.

"Quite," Snape answered icily, looking as intimidating as he could manage carrying a puffing pink and purple mushroom. "Our beloved poltergeist was simply demonstrating his ever-present need for attention."

Aurora could almost see the man's pupils grow about ten times larger as he looked around wildly, surveying the room with a toothy snarl somewhat resembling a shark. "Peeves," he growled like a curse. "Which way?"

"If you are seeking to find him, I believe your pursuit would prove more successful on the second floor."

Before the sentence was even finished, Filch was already on the move, loping past with a wheezing cough and beckoning, "Come on, Mrs. Norris. We've got some fixin' to do, we have, and you can bet the Baron'll be findin' out about this."

She watched him jog past in wonder. Snape had_ lied_ for her.

Although grateful, she wasn't entirely sure just yet how she felt about that.

When she looked back to him, however, he was already back to sauntering up the stairs, horklump swinging dangerously.

"Hey," she projected. "Hey, what was that about?"

He gave no indication that he'd heard her.

"Well…thanks, then. It was nice of you. You should try it again sometime, it suits you. So…where are we going?"

"_We_," Snape emphasized, "are not going anywhere. _I_, on the other hand, am going to the fourth floor."

"Okay…" Like he was going to stop her. "Why? What's on the fourth floor? Shouldn't you be taking that to, I dunno, Professor Sprout?"

She didn't need to look to know he'd rolled his eyes.

"If you must know, there is a ghoul currently inhabiting the floor."

They had reached the door that opened onto said floor, and she pulled him to a stop by his sleeve, suddenly none too excited to be opening it. "Wait, wait, wait—you're telling me that there's a _ghoul_?"

"Yes."

"And—and you've brought that hoarylumpy thing to get rid of it?"

"Yes."

"You can't seriously be considering going in there!"

"Believe me, I am. And I would be, if not for your interference."

She gawped, thoroughly taken aback. "Oh, this settles it. I'm _so_ coming with you."

"No."

"Well, why not?" It seemed a perfectly reasonable idea to her. Saftey in numbers, and all that jazz.

"I will not be responsible for what injury you are likely to incur if you walk through this door," he intoned firmly.

"No, you won't be," Aurora countered. "I will. I'm an adult, and a professor at this school."

His eyebrows shot up in an "oh, really" taunt, and she just knew he was going to bring up the whole "I specialize in potion-making and the dark arts, and you sit and look at stars" argument.

"You accompany me at your own expense," he determined at last, surprisingly. It must have been because he was finally sick of arguing, she decided. Or he just didn't care.

The door creaked on its hinges when pushed open with a loud, protesting squawk that made her skin crawl. Creaky doors: never a good sign. Always something bad behind doors that impersonated banshees.

Her second clue was the pitch-dark of the hall that they stepped into. Nothing good ever happened in the pitch dark, either.

Well, perhaps bedrooms were a bit of an exception…

"Lumos," proclaimed the man at her side, and she jumped about ten feet, seizing his arm and causing his wand to fall raucously to the floor.

"Aurora, would you please restrain yourself," Snape spat, jerking his arm from her grasp and stopping to retrieve the fallen wand.

Oops.

With the humility to feel uncomfortable, she whispered a heady apology and waited for him to repeat his spell, drawing her own wand and following his lead.

Somewhere in the recess of the poorly lit floor, there was an answering bang to the drop of his wand, and they froze. Within seconds, she had jolted closer and her hand had, once again, found its way to his arm, resting searchingly at the crook of his elbow in a gentle vise.

"Did you hear that?" she heard herself squeak. "I don't like this…"

He made no reply save continuing onward, perhaps indifferent but not adverse to her touch on his arm, for he made no move to retrieve the appendage. The light of his wand was dim, casting and elongating a few ominous shadows in their surroundings that moved with their own ministrations, and their footsteps in her mind reached a painful volume.

Something fell to the floor at their feet: a very small thing, constructed of metal by the sound of it, but in the moment after it landed there was no room for determining its identity as she jerked and tugged closer to her companion.

"I assure you, there is no immediate danger," said Snape.

"No danger? This thing could come up any second and start chewing on your face!"

"That is highly unlikely. Professor Binns, before I was given the pleasure of removing the nuisance, managed to lure it into a cupboard. This is a simple matter of finding it and driving it out."

Appalled, Aurora immediately let go of his arm to drive a couple feet's distance between them, glaring unceremoniously. "You mean to tell me that there's _not_ a ghoul wandering around in here—that it's been locked up in a _cupboard?_"

"I believe that is what I just said."

"Well, you could've at least mentioned that a little earlier!"

"Oh?" She couldn't be sure, but it looked a lot like he was smirking. "And deprive myself of your eminent display of unparalleled bravery? I think not."

It was beyond her ability to hold back and egregious eye-roll, jabbing him in the side with an elbow. "Had a change of heart, have you?"

"Sadly, you're making very little sense…though I am hardly surprised."

With the practice of a highly trained professional, Aurora ignored the remark. "I thought you hated everything to do with Gryffindor."

"I hold no illusions of respect for the house, and I assure you that has not changed. However, I believe you are forgetting the fact that _you_ were a member of the Ravenclaw house."

"Yup. Smarter n' you since over a thousand years ago. What of it?"

She could just _feel_ the glare he so chivalrously bestowed upon her, and judging by the feel of it the witch was wholly shocked that she hadn't melted right down to the floor from sheer force of will. After a lengthy pause filled with much mutual aggravation—and perhaps just a smidge of amusement—he made no move to respond. In fact, he made no move at all, and it was then that she realized they were standing not more than a foot apart from a suspiciously snarling wardrobe, rattling occasionally with the over-exuberance of its occupant.

Admittedly, she'd seen a number of horror-instilling wardrobes in her lifetime, one such ghastly armoire in the possession of none other than her great aunt, yet this one, even without atrocious size and abhorrent fuchsia paint with a touch of silver plating, most definitely took the cake.

What happened next was not what one may have called fascinating. Mildly repulsive, yes, not for the faint of heart, absolutely…but not something to report about in the Daily Prophet.

Without even the slightest form of warning—why was that _surprising?_—Snape gave his wand a vague little flick, tearing open the doors not but a scant few inches before her, and out stumbled an enraged ghoul.

It looked a lot like it could've been his twin brother.

…if his twin brother had been dead for a couple of months and subsequently possessed by a demon, that is.

Dragging itself forward with an astonishing knack for speed, the creature didn't miss an opportunity to take a swipe at her, the back of a grey, clammy hand clocking her clean across the jaw.

Ironically, she saw stars.

Having caught her off-guard, the ghoul took the opening to come back for more, clambering on top of her and snorting, whipping, gurgling…showing off a fair set of pointed, rotten teeth. Although it should've scared her half to death, the only thing she was capable of processing with a full-grown ghoul leering over her was that, all things considered, it did a very nice impression of a certain Potions Master; it even had the right attitude.

It could've have been more than a couple seconds, tops, before there was a large burst somewhere above her head and a voluminous _thud_ coupled with a string of muttered curses. As the floor made itself out beneath her it became apparent that she'd toppled over in the unexpected attack, but when she made an attempt to sit up she found that something was blocking her way. Squinting through clouded vision, Aurora pulled insistently at her obstacle and received a fistful of black material.

…a leg?

"Mind moving?" she mumbled impatiently.

"Stay where you are," was the firm retort, immovable. For some reason, she found this to be insanely funny.

"Y-you're like a…a hippopotamus! You're a hippopo-po—a hippo, Sev…Sev!" And she giggled all over again at the newfound nickname.

There was a sniveling growl as the ghoul, threatened, backed towards the wall, cowering in the presence of Snape's pink and purple muffin as he held it aloft. In minutely ear-splitting cracks, the little beast, still rooted to Snape's hand, made small swings toward its prey, swaying like mad as it let loose its noxious brown gas.

Aurora wrinkled her nose. "Eww."

Somewhere above her, a sigh. "Professor Sinistra, you have managed, most predictably, to stand in the way of my stunning charm."

At that, she broke out into rib-aching laughter, convulsing beneath him with the hilarity welling up at the back of her throat. "Y-your…! S-Severus, I think you're—" _gasp_ "—a little mistaken…if you think you're either stunning o-or _charming!_"

"Is that so?" he snarled, less than pleased by her antics, and she laughed all over again for how well he reminded her of the ghoul.

…it was a trip to the hospital wing and some odd hours later that Aurora realized, through the cloud of a massive headache, that he _hadn't_ been joking.

And she must have truly gone round the bend to have ever considered anything _that man_ said to be worthy of the title "joke," because if there was one thing Snape did _not_ do, it was crack jokes.

Make snarky and disparaging comments, yes, don an array of unflattering facial contortions, certainly, but _joke_?

Not in a million years.

In an effort to shake these unhelpful musings and their propensity to make her feel like one of the most _un_qualified professors in the entire castle next to perhaps Professor Trelawney—because who ever put themselves in the hospital for jumping in front of someone else's spell, really?—Aurora turned over on her stomach to bury her nose in the pillow of her hospital bed.

It wasn't as if she'd lost face, considering her reputation with Snape had long ago been decided "hopeless ditz" according to him, she was positive, but nothing ever felt good about making such a blatant error _right after_ showing so much bravado in proclaiming that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself.

She might as well have had the word "CLUMSY" etched to her forehead in big, red block letters.

Draw attention to herself by dropping fork and rushing out of Great Hall? Check.

Trip on stairs to Astronomy Tower? Check.

Smack face-first into the man she was trying to avoid? Check.

Trip on stairs to fourth floor? Check.

Get whacked around by a ghoul and land herself in the hospital? Check again.

With an accumulating sense of monstrous and laughable failure and balking over the fact that he was never going to let this go, she wondered vaguely if this experience could get even a little bit worse.


	4. Cancer: Beware Sharp Objects

Surprise! Good news, my dear readers: this one's the longest yet, and (and!) Dumbledore makes an appearance! Don't you guys just love Dumbledore? Who couldn't love Dumbledore? Well, if you don't, no worries. I'm also pleased to note that Fiona Ludluck is my own creation, and I picture her somewhere along the lines of a female Gilderoy Lockhart (now isn't that scary?). As always, a huge thanks to all my wonderful readers and reviewers (even you favorite-ers and alert-ers). Seriously. You guys help tremendously, and all feedback (tips, suggestions, questions...your heart's desires...) is always appreciated. So without further ado, enjoy!

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><p>Cancer: Beware Sharp Objects<p>

On sitting up from the depths of white hospital-issued linens, the first sight to greet her was an unexpected one: firstly, two bulbous objects she later recognized as balloons floated just outside the reign of her vision, flashing the words "get well soon" at her in a swirling display of color. Secondly, and perhaps a little more importantly, Aurora was ferociously taken aback by the sight of two half-moon shaped lenses hovering—rather patiently, she might add—just a few feet to her right.

Immediately, she was on her guard and attempting to sit up. "Headmaster, sir, I—it's—"

The wearer of said lenses wasted no time in pushing her back down, and she was admittedly surprised by the strength possessed by the man behind the gesture.

"No need, no need," the wizard waved her off. "Don't worry yourself on my account. Consider me a part of this fabulous display you have here—a dedication in honor of your health, I imagine. Marvelous work, really. Simply marvelous. It truly is unfortunate that I have not, as of yet, had the opportunity to contribute. Perhaps you'll forgive me."

_Forgive_ him? Did she hear that right?

Here she was, wasting galleons of resources better suited towards students by taking up space in the hospital wing, unable to teach, due to her unmistakable stupidity—and he was asking _her_ to forgive _him?_

Correction: Albus freaking _Dumbledore_ was asking her to forgive him?

Aurora could've died right then and there, keeled over from pure shame.

His indication brought her to the realization that her bedside was indeed occupied by more than just a couple of fancy balloons, and it was in a state of shock that she peered out across an array of objects and, at least in part, forgot her embarrassment.

Granted, this was nothing like some of the outrageous mountains of gifts she'd seen on the bedsides of students in previous years, heaped so high it could've been mistaken for Christmas come early from inside the hospital wing. It was, however, distraction-worthy.

"Who…" she couldn't even finish her sentence.

The headmaster fixed her in that knowing look of his, smirking fondly as if it was every day one of the most famous wizards of all time got to chatting with the lowly Astronomy professor.

"These," he gestured a wizened hand towards the two rotund balloons, "would, I suspect, be a token from the generosity of Misters Fred and George Weasley. I would not be surprised to find a hint of a trick to them, you know, and in truth I must say I'm quite guilty of imposing my company on you in anticipation of their purpose. I do so love surprises."

At her look of utter dumbfounded incredulity, he continued in amicable ignorance of her awe and trepidation. "I believe the enchanting bouquet of…snapdragons, are they?...that you see here are compliments of our dear Pomona. I'm afraid I must confess to a certain lack of knowledge concerning the rest of your benefactors."

"Oh…"

Really, it wasn't all that he made it out to be. Maybe five gifts, tops, if those two floating, flashing curiosities counted. It didn't fail to impress her, though, because Aurora didn't think she could even remember the last time she'd received flowers, let alone _snapdragons_.

While she ogled the assortment of well-wishing prizes, the Headmaster sat with a vague smile in her direction as if sharing some private joke with himself that she was wholly unaware of, and in her opinion this expression did not bode well at all for her future.

This time, when she tried to sit up, resting her elbows on her knees, he did nothing to stop her. She leaned over to get a better look at what charity had been bestowed upon her, peering across and spotting something even stranger than the rest: a small stoppered bottle as tall as the length of her thumb, peeking out from behind a box of Fizzing Whizbees.

Oddity that it was, Aurora truly didn't think much else of it. That is, until she picked it up and read the label.

_Acumencia_.

In other words, Wit-Sharpening Potion.

"He's a dead man," she heard herself growl, and was then surprised to find that she had voiced this aloud. Not, she was proud to note, quite surprised enough to revoke her statement.

Because, she was sure, even if the great and terrible Dark Lord himself marched straight into Hogwarts that very moment and Crucio-ed the man for the rest of eternity—even _then_—she would have no qualms in attesting to the fact that he most definitely deserved it.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Dumbledore's eyebrows shoot up a ways before he provided, "Ah, I see you've found Severus's addition. Useful substance, isn't it? Alas, it has no recorded effect on memory; the cleverest man in the universe could pop straight out his front door without his wand. I confess I myself have a habit of turning up in the morning still with a pair of slippers, on occasion."

Aurora sat glaring down at the small vial in hand, trying to appear attentive.

Useful though it may be, she'd be damned if she'd ever humor that greasy old bat by ingesting his little concoction…for all she knew, it could've been poison.

He could've been trying to _kill_ her!

And Dumbledore let that man teach _children? _Young, impressionable minds under the influence of a slimy git like _him?_ He was positively _evil._

Still, she knew better than to question the Headmaster's motives to his face.

As the wizard at her side politely requested permission to her box of Fizzing Whizbees—and Aurora pondered briefly what it must be like to rip open the wrapper to a chocolate frog and find a card of yourself winking up at you—she was struck with yet a new notion: of course Snape, that cad, didn't expect her to drink his potion. Why would he?

The whole point of it was to offend her—a point she'd say had served its purpose—or else it would be a bona fide present. And Severus Snape didn't _do_ presents.

Therefore, to her reasoning, the very last thing he'd ever expect her to do would be to drink it. He probably anticipated watching her hurl it in the rubbish—or at his head—and what was more, enjoyed it.

If, by downing a swallow and a half of harmless potion, she could deprive him of that small satisfaction, she'd be more than glad to quaff three more vials of the stuff, no questions asked.

Because Merlin knew she _lived_ to put him in a rage, if she could help it.

Now eyeing the dark little flask in a new light, Aurora snuck one last glance at Dumbledore—who, incidentally, happened to be hovering a couple of feet up off his chair as a delightful side-effect of the Fizzing Whizbee—before mischievously uncorking the beverage and giving it a good sniff, just in case.

Being satisfied that it gave off a stench so pungent she could almost feel it burning up her nose hairs—because if it had been anything less than rancid, she might have worried over its authenticity—the witch then brought it to her lips and drank it down without a second thought, thinking "Take that, you cold-blooded reptile! Ha!" all the while.

At first, she was unable to discern any noticeable effects other than what must have been the worst aftertaste in existence. Worried that he might have predicted her rebellious behavior after all and actually given her some sort of poison—or worse: Polyjuice Potion—she consoled herself with the thought that the results might not have been immediate.

"So," Aurora turned to Dumbledore in an attempt to forget that she was waiting. "If you don't mind my asking, Sir, why…" She trailed off, suddenly at a loss.

"Why am I here?" the Headmaster aptly concluded, still with his unnervingly pleasant expression. "Instead of, that is, sitting in my office, or travelling to Burma, or something equally reminiscent of my position? Indeed, why not; the hospital wing is just as suitable a place as any, I should think, don't you? Oh, but I think you'll find your answer soon enough."

Sufficiently bewildered enough for both of them, Aurora then tried to focus herself inward. Did she feel any different—more alert, perhaps?

Hard to tell.

She did, however, notice that her hair had worked itself into more of an unruly mess than usual overnight, which she quickly attempted to remedy with the comb that was her fingers. Very flattering.

In that next moment, several things occurred at once, least of which was that the chocolate frog she tried so cautiously to peel open made a mad dash for the nearest exit. Squeaking in protest, Aurora found her legs—no small feat, all things considered—and leapt after it like a madwoman, dodging past beds and other obstacles in her pursuit with confidence-instilling grace.

The next few seconds found her triumphantly mounting a window ledge and waving her prize victoriously in the air above her head, shouting "I got him! I got the bugger! Ravenclaw seekers everywhere, put to shame!" just as there was a resounding _bang_ and the door to the room was swept back on its hinges.

That first instant found her muddled, wondering where the noise had originated since the door had never actually even bumped into the wall. Snape came billowing—or rather, sloshing and dripping—through the doorway in certain haste, but he stopped dead in his tracks as the room flashed a blindingly virulent shade of pink.

Aurora watched, dumbfounded, as the remains of her two balloons cascaded to the floor in a series of sparkling pink crackles like fire. It was around the same time that she came to the realization that she was still on the windowsill holding her renegade confection above her head, and that Snape was starting to form a miniature lake where he stood rooted to the spot, gaze flickering between herself and Dumbledore, who still floated a good two feet above his chair.

Snape looked a lot like he might simply have turned around and walked away, if not for the fact that whatever he'd come barging in for seemed to be of relative importance.

"Severus," greeted the levitating wizard warmly. "So good of you to join us."

Aurora, for her part, did her best to look nonchalant on coming down from the window ledge and stuffing her chocolate in her mouth lest she be asked to speak. Snape looked a lot like he really _didn't_ want to know—but, just in case, she wasn't much inclined to offer an explanation.

Recovering from his momentary shock, the Potions Master visibly bristled, continuing to squelch right up to where the Headmaster hovered in order to seethe up at him. "Albus," he started imploringly, and it was right there that Aurora was greatly impressed.

One couldn't have paid her enough to use that sort of tone with the Headmaster, much less address him as "Albus."

Fool though he may have been—and she was thoroughly looking forward to watching him get shown his proper place—she had to hand it to him that the man had guts.

Dumbledore, to her utmost disappointment, looked nonplussed by the general rottenness of Snape's attitude, only nodding once in an indication for the sodden man to continue.

"You," Snape shot out in a breathless sort of fury that was most certainly _not_ the cause of the quiet little shiver rippling down her skin. "You used the strength of their link as your excuse. Slip your mind, did it, that I possess just the same amount of explosive information, that you'd be risking not only the sanctity of your life _here_, with your beloved and incompetent pupils, but the entire profit I serve to your plans, by sending me on some…_fool's errand?_ Legilimency is a dangerous thing, Albus, not to be taken lightly. If you fear even for one moment that He might gain access to peer into your mind—_yours_—then do, _please_ do, explain to me what you expect him to make of _mine?_"

The floating Headmaster only supplied him with a small shrug, as if the chill-inducing wrath of a man who possessed eyes so intense they could very well shoot black sparks was of little to no consequence. "Why, nothing," he said. "He trusts you, Severus, rather much the same way I do."

This only proved to make the Potions Master, if possible, even more livid. " 'Nothing…?' He saw me. You expect that to mean _nothing?_ He _saw_ me in that boy's memories—an obscene place, riddled with implausible immaturity—and he _naturally_ became suspicious and took action. For nearly twelve hours I've endured the probing of his—"

At this point, Dumbledore held up a hand, shooting a meaningful glance towards the woman with hellfire hair and a dab of chocolate around her mouth who sat oblivious, looking like the word _confusion_ couldn't even begin to cover it.

"Perhaps," said the wizard gently, "a conversation for another time."

With a disapproving and offendingly discourteous sneer directed towards Aurora, Snape gave a stiff nod and made as if to leave.

Dumbledore, however, had other plans.

"You're just in time for breakfast, Severus," he said, and somewhere in there Aurora was sure there was some kind of warning. "And here I was thinking you'd be kind enough to stay for some. You don't mind, do you?"

What with the way Snape halted mid-stride and spun on a dime, damp hair plastered to his forehead and looking a lot like he _did_ mind, Aurora picked up on the fact that this was not a question.

She was also—thanks to a little something called _Acumencia_—beginning to piece together some of what she'd heard in the earlier outburst.

Something in the tone of the way they'd said _He_ had just warranted a capital letter, and she highly doubted they meant Merlin. The brutality of the way Snape had referred to _the boy_ could only—even to Aurora's sluggish skills of perception—be one person in the entire universe: Potter.

And capital "_He"_s and _Potter_ in the same sentence could mean only one thing.

Voldemort.

Yes, _Voldemort_—she cringed even to think it.

And she didn't much like that word _probed_, either.

"Ah, a good man yet," praised the Headmaster on getting to his feet and gliding to the door. As he passed Snape, an easy-to-miss flick of his knotted want evaporated every visible trace of water from the formerly soaked robes—but Snape's hair and the tiled floor were another story entirely. "You'll be having omelet, I don't doubt," were Dumbledore's parting words as he slid through the door and out of sight.

In an attempt to ward off the instinct to pry—because anything involving Voldemort, Harry Potter, and legilimency just _had_ to be juicy—Aurora sat herself cross-legged in the center of her bed and did a good job of looking put out.

"Good morning to you too," she sniffed.

Snape, now looking thoroughly insulted by the realization that Dumbledore apparently never had any intention of eating breakfast with them, only scowled.

As if on cue, house elves popped into the room one after the other in a series of short "crack"s, nearly sending her jumping out of her skin. Each carried a tray—two were set at her bedside, the rest heading for only Merlin knew where—of none other than an omelet and toast, with all assortments of jam set into neat, circular containers.

Quaint as the arrangement was, Aurora wasn't quite impressed enough as she'd like to have been, considering she was much too busy eyeing the elves in suspicion.

And maybe just a hint of terror, as far as phobias went, but…mostly suspicion, of course.

When the pointy-eared fiends were gone, she wasted no amount of time in spreading a healthy coating of mango preserve on her toast and jamming it into her mouth, manners be damned.

Since when did _Severus Snape_ care about manners, anyway?

She smirked through a full mouth, watching the man pick at his food like a crow as he perched next to her on the farthest edge of the bed. "So…okay, I have to ask; why were you wet?"

Her attempt at normal conversation awarded her a weary glare. Weary, because in her personal opinion he could've passed for a corpse, almost an inferius, like he was in danger of collapsing right then and there on the floor of the hospital wing any second.

"It was raining," he supplied oh-so-helpfully.

Oh, yes. Ingenius. Could never have come up with that one on her own.

"So, what, you expect me to believe you took a romantic little stroll in the pouring rain just because you felt like it? Come on, details. Otherwise, just tell me you went looking for Excalibur in the lake, next time—it's more believable."

"I do not expect you to believe anything," he remarked testily.

"Of course you don't," she grumbled back.

Operation Act Like Normal People: complete and utter failure.

In the middle of grieving this fact, and just as she'd taken her next bite, mouth stuffed with egg, it hit her—_how_ couldn't she have seen it before—and she proceeded to take the largest swallow of her life.

Still choking as she felt her food inching down her esophagus, Aurora leapt up suddenly to grab him by the sleeve. "Oh my God," she gushed. "Prince Charming _and_ James Bond! You've got to be kidding me!"

The look she received informed her of just how much sense she was making.

"No, no! Listen! You! You're—" And then she realized who she was talking to.

…and to whom she'd just compared said person.

Severus Snape? James Bond? …who had a giant sign labeled "overkill" when she needed one?

"Yes…?" inquired the man whose sleeve she still clung to. It wasn't really urging her to continue, and it was actually more peeved than intrigued, but his first sign of interest in her presence had to count for _something_, right?

"Er—nevermind." Frankly, Snape and muggle films was a subject best left alone.

Even if it _did_ involve You-Know-Who.

"Perhaps you'd like to know, in case it has escaped your notice, that you have managed to smear chocolate on your face."

Curse that smug look of his. "Perhaps _you'd_ like to know you've managed to smear _unpleasant bastard_ on yours. …where?"

"Corner of your mouth," he informed her, a little _too_ proudly.

Furiously rubbing at the right corner of her mouth and simultaneously hoping that her goblet of apple juice would spontaneously transform into a mirror if she stared into it long enough, Aurora was thoroughly let down when he saw fit to tell her, in that sickly devious _way_ of his, that it was "the _left_ corner," didn't she know?

Appropriately exasperated, the witch sent him her best effort at a death glare from behind the fold of her napkin. "Who're _you_ to talk to me about hygiene, anyway? Next to what _you_ call cleanliness, I look like Fiona Ludluck! I think I'm allowed to have a little chocolate on my mouth, for Merlin's sake. The Ministry hasn't outlawed that _yet_."

Still pushing his food around with his fork—she didn't think she'd seen him take even _one_ bite out of it, the creepy git...he probably preferred to dine on the livers of first-year Gryffindors to start off his day—he glanced up, not quite disinterested. "Fiona Ludluck…?"

Incredulously, she gaped. Mid-chew, no less—giving him a lovely display of what their breakfast looked like once mashed up and mixed with saliva. But he _so_ deserved it for this one.

Because _who_ in their right mind didn't know who Fiona Ludluck was? She was the Gilderoy Lockheart of witches, the Goddess of modern music, the reason all hormone-enraged young wizards afflicted by puberty lay awake at night, and the master of a constant wake of flashing, drooling, rabid press photographers.

Was he _really_ that oblivious, or did he just like to get her panties in a twist—figuratively!—by pointing out these things?

"Please, please, _please_ tell me you did _not_ just ask me that," crowed Aurora.

Languidly—oh, he was _loving_ this—he blinked. "I would ask you to close your mouth, if you don't mind. Surely your parents taught you as much."

Ignoring him, and disregarding the fact that both of her parents died when she was about five, she only continued. "You don't know who Fiona Ludluck is? _Seriously_? _Fiona Ludluck?_"

He pursed his lips. "Don't be ridiculous. I am hardly capable of escaping what base atrocity she deems…_music_. My inquiry was not in regards to her identity, but to your comparison."

"Well…what about it, then?" she muttered, fully disappointed that she no longer had bragging rights to the fact that one Severus Snape did not recognize the sole most famous female celebrity of pop-magi-culture in existence.

"It does not nearly give justice to the level of…appeal you wish to convey. I have full confidence that every imbecile in this castle, including _you_, has by far a greater captivation."

For a second, she actually had to stop and think about that. Before she stopped _herself_, that is, for fear of an imminent bout of blushing—out of pure innocence to the concept, obviously.

Call her crazy, but it almost sounded—but that just wasn't possible, was it?—as if Snape had just told her that she was…_captivating_. In a sense.

But really, who was she kidding? He thought that she, Aurora Auriga Sinistra, was _by far_ sexier and more talented than Fiona Ludluck. Granted, he hated the singer with a passion, but…

If she squinted, it was almost like a compliment.

It wasn't every day she was told that she was better endowed than the wizarding world's Miss Perfection, after all. It was actually sort of…nice.

…if she didn't consider the source, anyway.

Honestly. Her? Prettier than Fiona Ludluck? Ha. Good one.

That was like saying Snape was the most handsome and alluring man alive. …which, he wasn't. At _all_.

For lack of a better response, Aurora felt herself start to panic when she realized that they'd actually been having a semi-civil conversation. Which was _bad_. So absolutely awful, in fact, that words could not begin to describe it.

Because that would mean…

But no. _No._ Just no.

Snape was evil. Evil goblin. Evil, bad, nasty, _mean_ goblin that ate children for breakfast.

"You gonna eat that, or what?" Aurora asked, primarily to distract herself. She could feel her own omelet churning in her stomach, which was not at all a pleasing sensation.

Without further ado, he shoved aside his untouched plate in favor of executing his most unsavory stare yet upon the defenseless floor: not at all a wise decision, in her mind, what with his already having mastered the art of looking like the living dead. Sallow, pale, and thin as a broomstick, with a bad attitude to boot: not a good combination.

"Severus," she chided, "have you ever actually even laid eyes on a vegetable in your entire life? Did you not _just_ get through complaining to Dumbledore about how you've endured some such torture for twelve hours, a.k.a. didn't sleep? That's not _good_ for you, you know."

The look to which she was treated said it all. Traditionally known as the "Aurora Sinistra, if you say one more word I will hex off your left arm and feed it to one of Hagrid's pets" look, it was now transformed into an "Aurora Sinistra, you are not my mother—please be so kind as to shove off."

Naturally, both of these expressions he reserved exclusively for her.

For the rest of the world, he utilized an arsenal of "you are an imbecile, please stop wasting my time" looks; her personal favorite was the "Must-resist-urge-to-manually-throttle-Potter," which he so aptly wore after every fifth-year class.

"You know," the Astronomy professor offered secretively, "you seem particularly unbearable this morning. Any reason why?"

This time he didn't even bother looking at her—just sneered weakly at his shoes, stood, and strode a couple paces towards the door. Aurora didn't miss that little wince he served the wall, or the tug he gave the sleeve of _that_ arm that she doubted even he was aware of.

"Oh, no you don't. Where do you think you're going?"

She hadn't expected that surge of unprecedented sympathy as she watched his shoulders stiffen.

"What business is it of yours where I spend my time, may I ask?" was his answering snarl. Apparently, he thought this remark gave him the right to continue on his way, breezing mercilessly through the door and down the hall, but, contrary to his desire, she followed him decisively all the way.

Who was he to walk off without saying goodbye, like he had something of greater importance than she? As if.

Not a chance in hell she was letting him off that easy—he hadn't yet received his full daily dose of the torment she so graciously inflicted.

"Aurora," he snapped some fifty paces later, and she couldn't quite repress the chill trickling down her spine from the way he said her name—because he was a truly terror-inducing individual when he wanted to be, of course. "If you insist upon trailing after me around the school like a lost and maudlin _puppy_, I'm afraid I will be forced to murder you."

"You wouldn't."

"I assure you, I would. For your own safety, I suggest you concern yourself with whatever business you might have elsewhere. Combing your hair, perhaps?"

"Oh, don't you _even_ start with my hair, Mister I-Don't-Wash-Mine-But-Once-Every-Five-Years. It's a wonder you don't have dreadlocks! It's not _my_ fault my hair can impress even _Hagrid_ of all people—blame my genetics!"

He chose not to respond to this, and it was a good ten minutes—as well as about thirteen horrified first-years—later that he charged into the dungeons, Aurora hot on his heels.

Immediately, he began shifting around ingredients, turning up containers and skillfully dumping small measures of various objects into a medium-sized cauldron. For several beats, she watched him.

"Is that…a Spotting Potion?"

He glanced at her, not able to entirely contain a hint of surprise when he answered, "How, precisely, did you reach that conclusion?"

"I got an _Excellent_ on my Potions O.W.L., please and thank you. I _am_ a Ravenclaw. …and, also, I read that book lying on the counter."

Conveniently, said book was turned to a page distinctively labeled _Spotting Potion_, sporting a good-sized list of ingredients accompanying the title. Promptly, the Potions Master snapped it shut—harder than she might have expected—and shelved it with gusto.

"Congratulations," he applauded flatly. "Your skills of observation serve you surprisingly well. This is, I believe, likely to be expected of a witch whose only pleasant attribute is how well she observes the sky."

Aurora huffed, sitting herself down at one of the many desks and staring up at him through her lashes, chin in hand, in her best impression of a student.

At least, she conceded, he admitted that there _was_ something pleasant about her, if only one thing. It was a start, despite the fact that he now proceeded to ignore her antics.

"So, why exactly are you cooking up a Spotting Potion? You haven't lost anything too important, have you?"

His seething glance spoke volumes. Namely, "isn't it obvious?"

When she returned to him a little glance of her own that firmly stated "no it is _not,_" Snape begrudgingly answered her with, "Tonight I have the grand fortune of endeavoring to tame a class of insolent fifth-year students."

"Oh. I'm sorry. That must be terribly difficult, seeing as no one paints the eyepieces of your telescopes with grease or connects the stars on your star-charts to make lewd images, since everyone is frankly petrified of you."

"Stargazing," he proffered, "is hardly comparable to the chemistry and diligence required in potion making."

"Oh, please," she remarked hotly. "It's no secret that you're a complete Dark Arts buff. Besides, try telling that to kids these days; you're lucky if they actually remember to bring a quill to class. Or, at least, _I_ am—_you're_ students are probably so incurably afraid you're going to eat them that they bring_ five_ for self defense purposes."

"Hopelessly dull though they are, children at this school are best kept by instilling a healthy portion of fear: a respectable practice I would not expect you to understand."

"_Heartless_ is more like it."

"You are a coward," he responded tersely.

"And you're a heartless bastard, what of it?"

She would've been lying of she'd said she didn't thoroughly enjoy the way those words had felt on her lips. Oh, revenge was sweet.

Just not quite as sweet as observing him stomp theatrically to one of his cabinets and knock over a grand total of five glass jars in the process of slamming shut the door.

"S'pose you're going to say you meant to do that?"

He briskly stirred his concoction first twice counterclockwise and then again to the right, paying her no mind—so he _thought_—in favor of his beloved potion.

Reassembling her interpretation of a student-like posture, the witch then gazed up at him in the doe-eyed expression of a fifteen year old girl. "Oh, Professor," she crooned, fake bubblegum and all. "I didn't know I was supposed to" (_smack_) "put the water in _before_ the ingredients! …I thought deadly nightshade meant a _bed curtain_! You missed a spot with the erasing charm, by the way! Oh, I think a strand of my hair fell into my potion when I was flipping my hair at Johnny—now what do I do?"

Again, ignored.

"Hey, whose desk am I sitting in, anyway?"

"Pansy Parkinson's," he snapped coolly, clearly regretting having said so at the first signs of her tell-tale grin.

Vowing to milk this for all it was worth, Aurora quickly switched tactics, pulling out Dramatically Romantic Sigh Number One. "Ohh, Professor, _please_, I need you to come stir my cauldron. It's just so…_hot_. I don't know what I'm doing wrong, won't you come show me?"

_That_ caught his attention.

"By the way, Professor, did you know that Potions is my _favorite_ class? It's so…_steamy_. Would you mind giving me a private tutoring session…_alone_…in your _office?_"

Just to be sure, she threw in a couple of mawkish eyelash flutters and longing stares, bearing her lower lip to him in all its glory and leaning over her desk like she owned it. For good measure, she winked.

She was proud to note that his lips had parted and his mouth was now hanging open—in a very unflattering, non-sexy Snape-esque way, that is—and she could tell even from across the room that he was thinking along the exact same lines as herself with: had she _really_ just said all that?

Apparently, she had, and there was no taking it back.

Aurora resented that the very next thing he did was _smirk_—very blatantly and very irritatingly—which was, as had been established, his equivalent to collapsing in hysterical laughter.

"Aurora," was his beginning entreaty that she _did not want to hear._ "What _are_ you doing?"

"Pansy Parkinson," explained the Astronomy professor as if it was absolutely obvious, making up for her lack of theatric skill. "Everyone knows that girl's got the hots for you—Merlin knows why. If the sighing and hair-curling didn't clue you in, I'm pretty sure I have a copy of last week's homework I can show you that has your name written in about six different colors with a bunch of pink hearts drawn around it."

She was almost certain he turned a visible shade of green, looking like he was about to be physically ill for a good thirty seconds. It was quite the entertaining experience.

She might have even gone on to sing about it and embarrass herself further, but, she decided, even _she_ wasn't that cruel.

All in all, Aurora had to agree that the morning had gone fairly well so far, considering this was _her_ life.

And that was why, without question, there came that single, purposeful knock on the door just to ruin it all because as fate would have it—and Aurora had already grown accustomed to the fact that fate was, believe it or not, out to get her—she was not _allowed_, Merlin forbid, to have a decent day.


	5. Leo: Witching Hour

In which Aurora and Sprout's relationship is expanded upon, and you guys get a glimpse of Aurora's brother. I'm very excited for you to meet him; he's quite the character. But I'll make this note short: reviews are love, you guys rock, cheers. Have fun! Oh yes, and of course, much love for the newest (and sadly, last) of the movies. If you have yet to see it, shame on you.

* * *

><p>Leo: Witching Hour<p>

It wasn't even noon yet, and already Aurora felt a lot like banging her head against a wall. Repeatedly.

Preferrably, a rather sturdy wall: one that wouldn't cave in at the sheer weight of the absurdity that was her life. A stone wall, for example.

Most of which stood, interestingly enough, in the dungeons: a place most inhabitants of Hogwarts quickly found was the very _last_ place they wanted to be, and the very place she found herself headed _towards_ after a good half-hour spent debating her options with herself aloud to Pomona Sprout.

Her life, she had decided, was much like a really bad (and probably really uninteresting) muggle soap opera.

After receiving from the threshold of Snape's door news of an urgent owl, the Astronomy professor had, much to her wondrous delight, agreed to march her way from the lowest point of the dungeons all the way up to the Owlry just to receive what she found was a markedly unnerving invitation from her brother, alongside what she liked to think _wasn't_ a howler from Pomfrey dictating the grave consequences of leaving the hospital wing without permission.

And now, what was she doing but traipsing her way all the way back down.

Why?

Introducing Sylvester Guilheim Sinistra (her family truly was one for alliteration, supposedly because her parents had thought it was cute…she begged to differ), who was her only known sibling, the brother extraordinaire who _lived_ off of any and all things corny, dorky, and generally worthy of her utmost frustration.

Namely, large themed weddings in the dead of winter.

Fact: Aurora Sinistra _hated_ weddings. All of them, no exceptions. She didn't discriminate.

Not only were they exclusively one of those must-have-a-date _couples_ events, not only did they involve _dancing_—which, to put it lightly, was _not_ her forte—and not only were they a blatant celebration of a socially condoned form of slavery…oh, no. They were _also_ a veritable form of torture in reminding Aurora of _just_ how pitiful her life was.

But of course, that wasn't all. This was her _brother's_ wedding—the true implications of which only she was capable of predicting.

And he was marrying a _muggle_.

Not that she was biased about it in any way—in fact, she rather liked muggles—but it would naturally follow that he would use this to his every advantage in arranging an assault upon her senses.

To her utmost disappointment, refusal was not an option. As excruciatingly painful as she was convinced the event would be, her expertise—unlike a certain greasy Potions professor—lay not in cruelty.

She just didn't have it in her to say no, no matter how many waltzes with sympathetic strangers or little boxed-in muggle hotel rooms she would be made to endure.

The worst part wasn't the wedding, as luck would have it.

No, her enlightening conversation with Pomona had cleared that right up, short and sweet.

The very absolute entirely _worst_ part of the affair was—just because fate had some far-fetched vendetta against her…honestly, what had she ever done to deserve this sort of cruel and unusual punishment?—that she was now on her merry way to do the unthinkable: convince Severus Snape to be her date.

Well, she had to correct herself, not _date_ exactly. More like fellow prisoner.

Rest assured, this was most definitely _not_ the man one wanted at a wedding. From the very start Aurora had tried telling her friend the bare facts: that this was a bad idea. A _bad_ idea. And not just _bad_, but extraordinarily unfavorable and generally all-around formidable. In simpler terms, _very_ bad—and she was convinced that the "very" made all the difference.

But had anyone listened to her? Of course not.

Cursing butterbeer—her one weakness—and the fact that her friend knew very well how to use it against her, the Astronomy professor shuffled her slightly-giddy self all the way up to the door to the classroom of the man in question before hesitating.

With one hand held aloft where her knuckles never made contact with the wood, she deliberated: should she knock? Shout his name and hope he listened? Turn around and head right back up the stairs because of how _very bad_ this was?

Concluding that it was too much to ask that he might conveniently swoop out of his door and bump into her, as if sensing her presence like the bat that he was, Aurora finally decided that, where Snape was concerned, knocking was not required.

And so, that was how Aurora Sinistra found herself, having burst straight through his door with a dramatic flourish worthy of even _his_ admiration, standing in the very center of a classroom packed with the leering eyes of curious fifth-years as she proclaimed, quite loudly and ridiculously, "My brother is getting married soon, in case you wanted to know."

Truly, her tact knew no bounds.

From somewhere in the midst of the heady atmosphere, she heard his voice before she could locate the man himself. "Is that all you wish to interrupt us with, Professor Sinistra?"

Flustered, she gawped around a moment at the many faces surrounding her, feeling her blunder magnified by the weighted stares—Pansy Parkinson's in particular—before finally determining that she was incredibly fed-up with his attitude.

"Actually, no," she continued boldly. Two could play this game—she wasn't the only one that could make disparaging comments. Not that finding something to criticize was all that difficult, on account of the fact that this was Snape. "You also might consider washing that atrocity you call hair, or it _will_ be bright green when you wake up tomorrow. …I think that's about it. Have a nice day."

From what she could see through the copious amounts of equal parts smoke and darkness, his expression morphed into The Sneer. Before he could characteristically tell her to "get _out_," she saw to it that she did her best heel-spin plus hair-flip as she breezed her way right back out his door without another word.

All in all, if the dinner-plate sized stare sans snickering she received from the likes of one Mr. Draco Malfoy was anything to judge by, Aurora had to say that the result was not too shabby.

She didn't look back when, only five steps down the corridor, she heard his door slam a second time.

"Aurora."

_Shiver_. Unthinkingly, she halted mid-stride, but had sense enough not to look back.

"Severus," she shot back coolly and evenly, and couldn't help feel a little pang of well-justified pride for the uncommon amount of absolute _suave _she'd just pulled off.

His steps echoed through the passage, indicating his approach, and it was a little faster than she might've expected, like he was sprinting at her with the intention of flat-out tackling her to the floor. Flinching when he stopped directly behind her and preparing to be either spun around or spat at, she was taken aback a second time when neither occurred.

For a few seconds' interval, he just stood there breathing down her neck, and she was briefly reminded of those romantic versions of vampires muggles so often wrote about.

Except, _romantic_ was a very poor description, considering this was Snape and all.

Immediately afterwards, she forbid the words _Snape_ and _romantic_ from ever entering her mind in succession ever, _ever_ again. Because that was just ridiculous.

"_What_?" she snapped, when he didn't say anything.

_Don't look back_, she had to tell herself. _Don't look back. Don't look back._

"Is there a _reason_," he growled, "you disrupted my class, or do you enjoy making an utter fool of yourself?"

Without turning, the Astronomy professor quipped, "Is there a reason you followed me out here, or do you enjoy creeping me out?"

He said nothing. _Gloat_.

But the moment was short-lived. "If you ever disturb me again while class is in session, the Headmaster _will_ hear of it. Assuming I do not use you as a class example of the exact effects of deathroot extract."

_Dumbledore?_ Ha. As long as her name didn't start with a V and end with "mort," she'd never tried to kill Harry Potter, and she did not possess insane amounts of evil genius powers, the Headmaster was as harmless as a nargle. Which, considering they were nonexistent and all, was pretty dang harmless.

That last bit about deathroot was a bit intimidating, though.

"Don't you have, I dunno, a _class_ to teach? House points to deduct, children to eat, that sort of thing?"

Without even looking, she could just _feel_ the glare he gave her.

"Yes," he dragged out in a very serpentine Salazar Slytherin-esque type of way. "I do. Thus, if you have anything of importance worth my time, I suggest you inform me now."

It was now that she asked herself: _why, _again, was she trying to convince the world's most _annoying and unpleasant_ wizard to accompany her to what was most likely one of the most annoying and unpleasant events of her life?

Oh, yeah. Because, as Sprout had so aptly informed her over a large frothing mug of butterbeer, her only options were a) Dumbledore, the looks she'd receive for which she would _not_ look forward to suffering, b) Hagrid, who, as nice as he was, she could not imagine sporting a tux and whatnot, c) Professor Binns, who was, as it turned out, a _ghost_, e) Flitwick, who barely made three feet tall, or f) a _student_. Which was out of the question.

Or, of course, Snape.

The fact that he was her best option was a testament to how _very pathetic_ her life was, and how _very few_ halfway decent men could be found at Hogwarts. Or the world, for that matter.

"Actually," Aurora hazarded, finally turning to face him—and subsequently being thrown off by how distractingly and disrespectfully _close_ he was, "it's about that wedding. You're coming with me."

He narrowed his eyes down at her as if to say "is that so?" and raised one flippant eyebrow at her absurdity as if he couldn't be bothered to move a couple muscles to lift the other. "And what, may I ask, makes you think that I will agree to that…_solicitation?_"

"Because I can make your life miserable if you don't," shrugged Aurora, not breaking eye-contact.

"A null threat at best. Believe me, you already do."

_Jerk._

"Fine. Because you love me?"

"Hardly."

"Oh, give it up already! Stop whining and just say you'll do it, because you know that, sooner or later, you're going to anyway. As much as I love our little back and forth hate sessions, spare me. We both know the answer to why you always put up with me, and it isn't all because you enjoy giving me hell."

"On the contrary, I was under the impression that I am made to put up with you for the sole reason that _you_ enjoy, as you call it, 'giving me hell.' "

"Oh, come off it!" she spat. "I wouldn't be asking you if I had any other choice, and you know it! So go on, lord it over me all you want: Aurora Sinistra is pitiful. News flash: I already knew that. Besides, I don't see you making any _other_ plans, you big hypocrite. As if _you_ have friends."

She felt his breath across her face when he remarked, "Incidentally, I believe I'll be washing my hair."

The _nerve_. Now he was just trying to be cute.

…not that there was anything cute about the way he was standing there scowling bitterly down in her direction. Because there wasn't. At _all._

"Honestly, what is _wrong_ with you?" It was a struggle to remind herself not to answer the question for him.

"Notably less, once I remove myself from your presence."

"Oh, go away! Go, I release you from my dreadful presence! This was a stupid idea."

"Indeed," he added without moving. "I see no reason for—"

"Why are you still standing here?"

Disregarding the fact that this was the hallway leading up to _his_ classroom, the demand made perfect sense in her ears. The look he gave her said otherwise.

After about half a minute's worth of staring each other down, Aurora finally caved. She threw her hands up into the air, cried "fine!" and crossly started off down the hallway in the direction she had come, muttering to herself like a madwoman and probably frightening out of their wits a few first-years unlucky enough to cross paths with her.

She imagined half the school would have heard about this by seven that evening, not unwise to the fact that there had probably been around twenty or so ears crammed up against the Potions Master's door in hopes of learning something new to chew up.

School children were a frightening lot—really, they were.

In fact, she wouldn't be surprised if the morsel twisted itself around into "Snape and Sinistra are getting married" by the time it came back to bite her, which it inevitably would.

Although seeing the look on Snape's face once he found out would more than likely be worth her while, the thought itself was repulsive. Truly.

Pomona Sprout, however, had other ideas.

"Now, Aurora dear," started the herbologist once Aurora ambled in looking a lot worse than when she'd left. "You didn't shove it at him all in one mighty thrust, did you?"

"No," was her sullen answer. "He's not coming."

"Well, of course he is!" came the protest. "He just doesn't know it yet. This is all psychological, my dear. You can't simply uproot the whole plan right in front of the man; you must plant a seed!"

Oh, yes. Because Snape and flowers went so well together. She could see it now: her, planting a secret garden for him somewhere in his office, and him walking in one day to become casually devoured whole by a twenty-foot carnivorous plant. With _her_ skill, it would happen.

And all this was not to mention the fact that the _last_ time she'd given him flowers he'd nearly avada kedavra'd her right then and there.

"I hope you realize," Aurora informed her friend, "that this _is_ Snape you're talking about."

"Yes, yes," Sprout waved her off. "You must give him the impression that this is the last thing you'd ever wish to be seen at with the likes of him. He's not up to par with your standards, if you will."

"Um…and he's supposed to care _why?_"

At this point, the Herbology professor supplied her with a sly grin that did _not_ sit well on her stomach. "Trust me; it will drive him insane."

"I _already_ drive him insane. He drives _me_ insane! How do you expect reverse psychology to work on a man who would just as soon laugh himself to sleep if I was dragged off into the Forbidden Forest in the middle of the night, never to be heard from again?"

In spite of her argument, or perhaps because of it, Aurora found herself being admonished with a look she did not appreciate. It was one of those meddling "oh, you two are too cute!" looks that almost _always_ caused trouble.

True to Aurora's prediction—if she wanted, she swore she could swipe Trelawney's job right out from under her feet—the herbologist then ruled that she would thenceforth be selecting her friend's each and every garmet. To this, she _had_ to protest.

What kind of sorceress would she be if she had to seek approval for her outfit each morning, after all? Not to mention she just _knew_ Sprout was going to try and impose upon her that "sexy and irresistible" look that she'd never been quite capable of accomplishing.

In all honesty, it would probably involve rearranging the entirety of the space-time continuum in order to get her God-awful mess of what she liked to call hair to look even marginally acceptable to public standards, let alone _sexy and irresistible_.

Needless to say, it was obvious that Pomona was a _very_ misguided individual—especially when she started rummaging through Aurora's wardrobe.

She had to admit it would almost be funny if not for the fact that this was _her_ life; it rather resembled, at the moment, one of those really bad chick-flicks compliments of the muggles, in her opinion.

_Not_ that Snape in any way resembled Mr. Blinding-White-Teeth-Gorgeous-Eyes Right, or that she was attracted to him in any way, shape or form. Because she most certainly was _not_, whatsoever.

That was just insane, really. Who in their right mind would ever find _Snape_ even reasonably likeable? It was like saying thestrals were adorable.

…which probably ruled out Hagrid. But seeing as he was only partly human, he didn't count.

Naturally, due to an absolute innate propensity to be a sucker for virtually _everything_—open-minded, was her excuse—Aurora found herself roped into wearing a professional yet borderline flirtatious green skirt and cream-colored blouse for the rest of the day.

Which might not have been so bad (after all, Sprout had even accomplished the utterly impossible—shocking Aurora's hair into a somewhat-organized collection of ringlets, rather than a fiery mound of frizz) if not for the fact that she was now being forced to parade around in a pair of heeled boots down all 162 steps of the Astronomy Tower.

Perhaps _parade_, Aurora considered, was the wrong word. _Clutch ungainly at the railing and _still_ manage to twist her ankle and vault over a few steps_ was much more correct, in her opinion.

It was in that moment that she decided that beauty just wasn't for her because, so help her, it was not worth ten years of her life.

Which was how long it would take for her to make it to the first floor, at this rate.

Begrudgingly allowing that it was too late—that if she wished to swap out her boots for, say, a pair of much less hazardous sandals, it would mean heading all the way back up to the top of the tower and revoking all of her progress insofar, she agreed it was a risk she was simply not willing to take.

In keeping with Sprout's advice (because she was _desperate_, she told herself), Aurora seated herself directly beside Snape at lunch with an appropriate amount of indifference.

This proved, in reality, to be very challenging in light of the fact that he was immediately taken with choking, presumably on pumpkin juice.

With as much "aloof and mysterious" as she could muster, the Astronomy professor turned to him in her best poker face. "Are you alright, Severus?"

He stared blankly up at her as if he didn't know the meaning of the question, and she fought hard against a relentless smug little smirk.

"Aurora!" exploded Trelawney on her other side, distracting her in a flourish of jingling jewelry and overly-magnified eyes. "How delightful you look!" This invited the attention of the rest of the table, and she was made to ignore the somewhat-gaping Potions Master in favor of responding to various compliments.

And he kept staring, she noted, even when she explained her reasoning: she wanted to look nice for her brother's upcoming wedding, as it was, and practice never killed anyone.

Not in the fashion industry, anyway.

The glances came after that, shot over when he thought she wasn't looking. Little did he know, _observant_ was literally part of her job description. In truth, she was plagued to notice each one—eighteen she counted in total, before she finally decided she'd lose it if _somebody_ didn't say _something_.

"You know, Sev," she cautioned, still apathetic. "If you're trying to be subtle, it's not really working."

She was rewarded with yet more gracious staring, accompanied by his best impression of a goldfish as he opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, all the while masking this utter speechlessness with his weakest Scowl of Evil to-date.

"I take it you're impressed?" she offered somewhat generously.

"If you are referring to any supposed reaction to what is clearly an improvement on your part, I must sorely disappoint. Although it is doubtless a relief to many to know they are no longer in danger of being apprehended by…what is surely the farthest thing from becoming, I only wonder who, exactly, do you believe you are trying to impress?"

Technically, it was not good form to indiscriminately jam one's pointy heel into the very toe of one's neighbor's boot but, well, that last remark about "far from becoming" just literally _begged_ for him to get stabbed. Neither did this fall under the category of "sexy and aloof," but it wasn't as if Sprout was going to notice—and even if she did there wasn't much she could do except maybe glare a bit. Or maybe chuck small bits of food.

But Aurora highly doubted the latter, as it didn't set the best precedent for the students.

To her almost-satisfaction, she was reasonably sure that she'd caused Snape to accidentally bite his tongue.

"Obviously," she sniffed, "I seem to have impressed _you_—_without_ so much as trying."

"It is there that I must disillusion you, I'm af—"

"Oh, _do_ shut up. Yes, yes, you're too much of a stuck-up git to admit that you were caught off-guard by my hidden-until-now stunning beauty, etcetera, etcetera. May we please move on?"

To her credit, she was actually considerably impressed with herself for having said so.

Snape looked his usual, unconcerned self—which was surprisingly disappointing—except for to award her The Sneer and cease to comment on the matter. True, she was glad he hadn't continued to contradict her…but now she sort of wished he had, just so she didn't have to wonder if his silence was somehow indicative of some form of agreement, and if in thinking so she hadn't gone completely nuts.

Which was just _wrong_. On _so_ many levels.

Because Severus Snape was not supposed to _agree_ with _anyone_, least of all Aurora Sinistra, and definitely not on the fact that she was any kind of beautiful.

It was like…sacrilege.

The man wouldn't know true beauty if it catapulted directly into his eyeballs at the speed of light. …which, generally speaking, it did anyway.

At this point, she was really _very_ tempted to say something just to relieve the tension-crammed silence…before she remembered that she was supposed to be acting cold and distant à la reverse psychology and such.

It was in this moment that she felt compelled to make use of what was her best method of distraction yet: stealing his lima beans.

For the first few seconds, he only watched as she casually leaned over and began not-so-slyly scooping spoonfuls from his plate onto hers. Up went the eyebrow.

"Aurora…what are you doing?"

"Hmm…?" She nonchalantly slipped the last spoonful into her mouth, regarding him with an innocent tilt of her head. "Eating lunch."

"Eating _my_ lunch, Aurora."

"Oh, don't look so offended!" muffled the Astronomy professor through a snicker. "You _hate_ lima beans. Waste not, want not, y'know?"

"What…" his words ground out through clenched teeth, "may I ask, gives you that particular idea?"

"Uh, I dunno, maybe because you_ never_ eat them, and you always do this thing where you separate them at least two centimeters from the rest of your food like they're diseased and in some kind of quarantine where you push them to the very edge of your plate and then squish them with your fork when you're done? It's kind of weird, actually; I think you might be a bit OCD. But believe me, it doesn't take legilimency to figure out."

The look he fixed her in was a little demented; she wouldn't have been surprised if it had caused her hair to spontaneously combust, or something to that effect. At the word "legilimency," he kind of winced like he'd contracted some odd form of facial tic. "Although knowledge of your irregular fascination with my eating habits is truly quite disturbing, I contend that you might have otherwise asked permission before…intruding."

"And gotten some snide remark in return? No, thank you. Besides, it's not like I watch you eat or anything. That would just be creepy. It's just that it's really difficult _not_ to notice when you're over there mass-murdering your food. In fact, you should be thanking me. So I'm a lima bean thief; sue me. At least you don't have to look at them."

"Contrarily, this would only serve as further proof that you are, succinctly, thoroughly distasteful."

Affronted, she couldn't let his statement go unchecked. "Always the pessimist, aren't you? Can't you accept that just _maybe_ the fact that I actually like lima beans is really a tad convenient for you?"

"I fail to see why."

"Well, clearly!"

And there it ended, because frankly, she found it just a little exasperating and more than a little insane that they were genuinely having a straight-up, de facto argument over _lima beans_, of all things.

Clothing, she could understand. Hair, students, her general ineptitude, and even _eating_ made at least marginal sense…but _lima beans_ was just taking it too far.

Indeed, it was only more evidence for her case of "say anything to Severus Snape, _anything_ at all, and he _would_ twist it into the largest debate the world had ever seen." No one was safe.

By the end of lunch, she had retracted back into a reserved sort of state of which she was sure Sprout would very much approve. Disappointingly, it didn't seem to affect the wizard at her side much except to exact a kind of almost-uncomfortable silence on their end of the table, seeing as Snape was seated at the table's finish and had no way of smoothly turning away and ignoring her without looking a lot like he was holding a conversation with the wall.

As much as this was mildly satisfying, it was also vaguely disheartening. Snape looked just about as perturbed as he always did, which was on a scale of one to ten about a negative fifty. So it seemed, he'd rather sit in silence, frowning down at his plate in such a way that actually made Aurora feel a bit sorry for it, than have anything to do with her.

Obviously, just as she'd known, Sprout's plan had completely and miserably backfired. Snape didn't give anything even faintly close to a damn—why would he?

All rights to "I told you so"s were now officially hers. And she wasn't below rubbing it in her fellow educator's face—gladly and shamelessly.

In the knowledge that hers was a lost cause, Aurora quickly turned down the volume on her act and looked his way, deviously avoiding Trelawney's eye lest she be roped into an hour-long lecture on how her future was rife with incredibly horrible things of doom.

If given the chance, she could safely say she'd rather be, in all honesty, mocked by the Potions Master for her idiocy than bored to tears by the Divination professor. For one, she was a great deal more immune to Snape's sadistic ways than to Trelawney's unquestionable lunacy.

She at least liked to think that she herself wasn't _quite_ that bad. The man at her side probably had a difference of opinion.

"You know," Aurora informed the man who sat still with his forever-scowling expression painted on. "You'd be amazed if you met my brother. Really."

He answered in a toneless, resigned fashion when he said, "And why might that be?"

Honestly, the least he could do would be to _look _at her if he was going to insult her. And of _course_ it was an insult, because what had he ever said to her that wasn't?

"Believe it or not, he's actually worse than I am."

His left index finger twitched slightly, but beyond that he remained completely motionless, hardly breathing. She couldn't help but notice that his performance actually put some of the castle's own statues to shame, what with the fact that even _they_ moved occasionally.

"I find that hard to believe," was his oh-so-predictable response.

"Seriously," she attested. "He is."

"In what respect?" he launched back curtly.

"Oh, y'know…" She refused to allow herself to be phased by his goblin-like ways. "It's difficult to explain."

"Do _try_." It sounded a lot like a challenge to her, like he didn't expect her to be capable of expressing herself rationally. She fully intended to prove him wrong.

"If you _insist_, he's probably the single most nerve-wracking person you'll ever meet. First of all, you know that feeling you get when you know you're being an unbearable nuisance and should probably shut up?"

"No."

Because _that_ was surprising.

"Well, okay, let's pretend you do. Yeah. He doesn't get that."

"And you do?"

"Of course I do. I just ignore it where you're concerned, because really, there's never going to _not_ be a time when I'm annoying you."

To that, he didn't have much to say. She couldn't repress the small feeling of victory, tempting her towards what she knew was a very regrettable course of action: sticking out her tongue. With practiced experience in the matter, she ignored herself.

"Yes, well. Moving on. Secondly, you know those people who go around talking about three millimeters from other people's faces like they have no idea what personal space is? He does that. And also, he breeds puffskeins for a living, but he thinks he's a poet. He's clueless and obnoxious, and I'd honestly be astonished that he's getting married at all if it wasn't for that he's managed to inherit _all_ the good looks in the entire family."

When he failed to comment, she continued. "He's really very sweet, though, I suppose. Once you get past all the eccentricities."

"How very _touching_." His sarcasm was unmistakable. "Your parents, unfortunate though they may be in the department of reproduction, must be so very _proud_."

"Or, y'know, they would be…if they weren't six feet under right about now." She was not about to let him get to her. Nope—she was Super Sinistra, not one to be taken lightly.

Except, okay, maybe that sounded just a _little_ bit ridiculous.

And maybe he looked just a little bit sorry, when his poisonous eyes darted up in a split-second's shock to latch onto hers before quickly dropping back down. Darkness gathered in his expression, and she would be the first to say it was her imagination if not for the practically tangible storm-cloud accumulating above his head.

Not that he'd ever have the good grace to apologize or anything. Goblin.

It wasn't as if she cared. That was, it wasn't like she couldn't get that way he'd looked at her—that _look_, with its boundless humanity—out of her head, or anything like that. Because that was just crazy.

Snape _sorry_? As _if_. The man had about as much empathy as Umbridge.

As a matter of fact, she wondered why they didn't get together after hours and chat during evil tea parties. They were practically perfect for each other. In an _evil_ sort of way.

_Not_ that she cared, or was even the slightest bit interested in Snape's personal life, romantic or otherwise. Because she wasn't. At _all_.

"You know," she remarked hotly, feeling particularly nefarious. "It wouldn't kill you to be a little nicer. Even to say something, just _once_, that isn't _completely_ cruel and insensitive?"

He didn't quite turn to her, mouth open in full preparation of what she expected to be yet another insidious comment made at her expense, because Merlin be praised if he'd ever dare to _listen_ to her, when the food before them suddenly vanished.

Ah. The end of lunch. And not a moment too soon, because her bastard-senses were tingling in full awareness of the fact that if he'd said what she thought he was going to say she probably would have done something stupid. Like attempt to shove a plate of lima beans down his throat.

Before he could even begin to fix her in one of those condescending stares of his, she was up and treading along through the nearly endless stream of students towards the large set of double doors at the end of the hall, not looking back.

So he wasn't coming. It was final. No amount of threats or psychology was going to change the fact that Severus Snape was simply _not going with her_. And, well, as much as she'd told herself that this was the way it was going to turn out, she couldn't help that little part of her that actually felt a tiny bit let down by that.

The rest of her day was spent in the mindless droll that was correcting assignments, because Merlin knew she needed to catch up on that, and also in suffering through a visit from Sprout which confirmed her suspicions that the woman was not at all a good influence. When in the presence of the herbologist, star charts were put at a much greater risk for being either stepped on, spilt on, or otherwise decimated. Not to mention ignored.

Aurora's evening class was made to put up with her distraction, and also their ripped, stained, and otherwise decimated homework, as she went through the motions of professordom. It wasn't, or at least she didn't _think_ it was, that she was all that displeased. Rather, it was a lot like getting her hopes up for a Christmas that never came.

Of course, she had no one to blame except Pomona Sprout for that one. Hadn't she suffered enough, without being patronized by _very bad_ ideas?

Apparently not. Apparently, whoever it was up there must have hated her very much—or at least taken great amusement from her pains, anyway, because it became increasingly clear that she couldn't even take a nice, peaceful stroll through the castle these days without winding up in some kind of catastrophe or other.

Granted, it _was_ four o' clock in the morning, but since when had that mattered?

The moment Aurora turned a corner of the castle, not paying all that much attention to where her feet were taking her and not much caring, Peeves took it upon himself to shoot up out of the floor and scream "boo!"

Now, the Astronomy professor was hardly in awe of his originality, but this could also have been due to the fact that she had, in honor of this display, shrieked herself silly, fell over sideways, shrieked some more, threw her wand at him—which was, honestly, more of an accident than anything else—and shrieked again.

She might have even continued to do so, if not for the small little detail that a certain individual—attracted by her maniac screaming, no doubt—lunged around the corner at the other end of the hall and was then smacked dead-on in the face with the momentum of the flying projectile that was her wand.

In the silence that followed, she heard it drop clattering to the floor just before Peeves, obviously elated that his prank had succeeded, cackled like mad and managed a couple of obnoxious back-flips before disappearing through the far wall, the sound of his blowing a raspberry following him out.

Not daring to look up, Aurora meekly recovered herself enough to sit up and crawl over to the wall, sagging into it.

"Clearly, even the basics of witchcraft must escape you," said a voice she definitely did _not_ want to hear, "if you are ignorant to even the fact that a wand is best effective when _used properly_."

Not "what's going on?" Not "are you alright?" Not "is Peeves bothering you?" Not even "why did you scream?" Just, "clearly, the basics of witchcraft must escape you…"

Quite honestly, she might have killed him—shown him what _used properly_ really meant—if she hadn't been so busy trying not to cry.

Snape. Of _course_ it was Snape. Who else would it be? Surely not someone normal, like McGonagall or Sprout. Merlin, she would even have preferred _Filch_.

But it was not meant to be. Obviously.

…or there would not be a tall, dark, _unhandsome_ Potions Master with an abnormally large nose currently shoving her wand rather violently into her face.

Needless to say, she took it from him just as forcefully. "Severus Snape, are you _stalking_ me?"

As expected, he scowled down at her in his usual malicious and superior manner. "Aurora Sinistra, I believe it should be abundantly clear to you by now that I do not waste my time on such insignificant matters."

Is that what she was? _Insignificant?_

"Do you _mind?_" Couldn't a lady wallow in her misery in peace?

She was suddenly very glad that he was so tall, looking up into the unpleasant face that towered over her and appreciating the luxury that his disproportionateness was keeping the liquid of her eyes exactly where it belonged.

Because there was _no way_ she was going to cry in front of _him_. Of all the horrible, unfeeling, unsympathetic _goblins_, he was the worst.

As if to prove this point, the man, instead of swooping off down the hall as per usual, lingered over her, casting down this unreadable expression that, on top of everything else, was truly unnerving.

_No._ Impossible. Not a chance from heaven to hell she was going to show him her tears.

_Not in front of Snape. Not him. _Anyone_ but him._

"_What?_" she spat, finally fed up with being surveyed like a prize turkey.

_Oh no. Please no._

"Sinistra." His lip curled on her name, rolling off his tongue like a disease. "You're upset."

Earth shattering, his intellect.

"So?"

"Reduced to tears by a Poltergeist, are we? How very…_infantile_ of you."

Really, it was too much. If that was his way of trying to be helpful, his communication skills were, sadly, severely lacking.

"What do you care?" Aurora retorted, shifting so she didn't have to look at him anymore.

Because, what else could she have said? What could _anyone_ have said to the one man determined to make her feel as damned moronic as possible, in such a situation? "Oh, you know; you're a jerk, I'm destined to be alone for the rest of my life, I have terrible friends, and I don't really like weddings—nothing too serious?"

Somehow, she had a feeling that wouldn't go down very well.

To her utmost annoyance, he was seemingly unphased. He might have even followed up with another one of his well-loved bouts of snarkage, had she not unexpectedly and with a start realized that it was actually a tad _odd_ for him to be up and wandering the castle in the middle of the night.

As for her, the Astronomy professor had a perfectly viable excuse; she did have the grand fortune of instructing around fifty more or less tragically bored students well past midnight, after all, and she was sure her utter hopelessness had to count for something.

He watched her eye him suspiciously with the gall to look impatient.

"Hey, wait, why are you…why aren't you…" …asleep? _Did_ the man sleep? She had a sudden vision of him rising from a coffin, like in those old muggle horror films her brother was always trying to force her to watch, and punctuated her drastically nonsensical rambling with a bitter snort of laughter at his expense.

Except, thinking of her brother made her revisit all over again _just_ how impressively deplorable her life was, and it was a struggle to keep breathing. At least, breathing properly, anyway—because she made it fairly self-evident that she was more than capable of accomplishing a masterful impression of Moaning Myrtle just before she let loose.

She even saw Snape flinch a little, obviously in expectation of the Myrtle-esque wail she was proud to have kept in her chest.

"_That_," grimaced the Potions Master, translating her unvoiced question with the proficiency of one adept at Sinistra-ese, "is none of your concern."

And she was thoroughly offended for all of five seconds. At which point, she noticed he was wearing a heavyweight cloak that was certainly _not_ something one wore casually about inside. Her next clue was the blades of wet grass which clung somewhat comically to his shoes.

Oh.

Without even having to ask, she suddenly knew _exactly_ where he'd been (or, the gist of it), and felt just a tiny bit better about her own life. Because, as awful as it was to be plagued by uncoordination, hair that mimicked a tree, spinsterdom, her brother, and a man called Severus Snape…at least she'd been born a Ravenclaw.

As in, not a Slytherin. More specifically, _not_ a part of club Voldemort; it seemed like a very overworked and underappreciated position.

Letting her gaze wander briefly as she felt somewhat better about herself, Aurora felt the draw of that part of him which was marked and wondered what it felt like: whether or not it prickled or burned. And then he caught her staring and she looked away quickly, terrified that he might know that she knew.

But the important thing was that she felt _better_. Not a whole lot—only a little, really, but a little was better than none, at any rate. What scared her the most wasn't actually that she'd end up old and alone, or that the Powers that Be had made up their minds to make her life as much of a failure as possible. No, the _really_ paralyzing fact of the matter was that, just by getting grimaced at and criticized a little by everyone's favorite Potions professor, she was honestly able to feel better about the brilliant mess known as her life.

People didn't go around making other people feel better about themselves by throwing a snarkfest. It just wasn't done.

In that moment, she was thoroughly convinced that there was something very wrong with her.

"You know," she sniffed, trying not to sound like she was five kinds of weirded out and _not_ crying. "You're really horrible, you know that?"

Except, she felt herself kind of smile when she said it, looking up at him for the first time like she didn't care that he was standing there with that goblin-like frown plastered on his face, and she thought she saw a hint of something else flash across his grim expression before it was gone and she was left to wonder if she hadn't just pulled it out of the air. He squinted down at her like she was blinding him—seriously, the man had problems—and she almost had to look down to check that her skin wasn't somehow inadvertently excreting massive quantities of light (in the life of Aurora Sinistra, it could happen).

But no. Still nice and flesh-colored, which was always a good thing.

What was the matter with him, anyway?

And then, just like that, he briefly bathed her in the copious amounts of warm-hearted cheer that was his snarl and was off flapping down the hall with his thick cloak and his heavy shoes in a manner that might've made a troll a bit jealous. Without saying goodbye, she had to note.

Without saying _anything_, really.

Which was so ridiculously typical that the most she could do was roll her eyes at him, because when dealing with Severus Snape it was usually best not to question things lest one be driven unmistakably loony. Not that she wasn't already, just…well.

She couldn't help but think it was almost nice, his not saying anything. Because Merlin knew there was not a shortage of ways to make her feel absolutely idiotic: something he frequently indulged himself in and more often than not succeeded.

It went without saying, of course, that this idea was entirely insane.

Because Snape was _not_ a nice person, especially not to _her._

But then, as she dragged herself back up to her isolated tower and struggled up every step in mutual dislike of staircases, Aurora couldn't deny that it could've gone a lot worse, all things considered. For instance: he could've laughed—a truly frightening scenario for any and all witnesses. He could've listed all billion and one reasons why Peeves was the least of her problems. …she could've ended up in tears, Merlin forbid.

So even if _better_ was the best she was going to get, she honestly had no qualms about the matter.


	6. Virgo: Looking Up

Why hello there. I'm proud to announce that we've reached the halfway mark with this chapter. And, ooh, the plot thickens! Also, meet Nigel (what? introducing a new character in the middle of the story? preposterous!), and feel free to tell me what you think. Much love and gratitude to those souls brave enough to hit that review button. Cheers!

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><p>Virgo: Looking Up<p>

In the course of the next two weeks, wherein her brother sent her innumerate magazine clippings of dresses that looked a lot like a six-year-old muggle had crafted them with a couple of scraps of cloth and some chewing gum, Sinistra had finally come to the breaking conclusion that she honestly saw Rowena Ravenclaw, in the flesh, more than she saw Snape.

Which, she was convinced, was actually a very good thing.

It was somewhat apparent that his mood had crossed from "reasonably tolerable levels of vindictive bastard" into "ninth circle of hell," and she was all too glad not to be a part of it. She'd actually heard that he'd thrown bat droppings at one of his students—_thrown_ them. In fact, pelted them at the poor child's face like some kind of high-velocity dung bullets, to be more exact.

Who _did_ that? Who threw _anything_ at a student, much less bat feces?

She had to wonder. And it wasn't like she'd never considered it before—because she had. She _definitely_ had. There had been more than one time she'd been tempted to hurtle the nearest object straight into the center of a student's forehead, namely that "Astronomy isn't a _real_ sorcery, you know," Malfoy punk.

Just, she wasn't actually crazy enough to go through with it.

Snape, apparently, was. Not that this surprised Aurora in the slightest—and not that he'd thrown anything at Malfoy. Heavens no—Merlin forbid anyone touch a precious, pureblood hair on the boy's freakishly blonde head.

_Slytherins_. Aurora rolled her eyes to herself as she trudged through the doorway leading into her chambers. They were _all_ snobs.

Except for that one poor soul who always sat in the corner of her class and stared at his desk—what was his name? Thomas?—but he didn't count. Because she was pretty sure there was absolutely no way he belonged in Slytherin, and the Sorting Hat had probably just been having an off day. Unless, of course, he was one of those silent sociopaths whom no one noticed until it was too late—until he finally cracked and came to class one day with some impressive new torture-spell.

…but she would rather not think about that.

"Have you seen that chum of yours recently, the one with the particularly large nose?" posed Nigel—the man in the picture on her wall she usually tried very hard to ignore.

"No." Because she'd rather not think about _that_ either, really—not a very pleasant alternative, in her opinion.

"Shame. I would've liked to get his opinion."

This was reason enough to give her pause, mostly because there wasn't a single soul in the entire school, except perhaps Dumbledore, who would ever be desperate enough to actually _want_ the opinion of one morbidly sarcastic Potions Master. Willing herself not to look over, however, she tried dutifully to ignore the comment.

Past instances had taught her not to ask questions. With Nigel, one could never be too careful.

If she had known beforehand that her chambers were going to come with Nigel the painting—who, as it was, had been plastered to the wall ages ago by some witch who was keenly fond of him and clearly nuts, where he remained to-date and staunchly refused to be moved—Aurora just might have decided to move in with the house elves. Which was a testament in itself to how inexorably _unbearable_ a two-by-three work of art could be.

"You don't suppose you could fetch him for me?" pressed the tiny man.

She whirled. "How, precisely, do you propose I do that? Lure him with a slice of meat hanging from a stick? The man wouldn't come within ten feet of this room, and I'm not exactly an owl, either!"

From the corner of her eye she saw Nigel, dressed in his usual deep purple dress robes and leaning against the frame, wince, and for an instant she felt a little guilty. But only for an instant.

"He _has_ been in here before, you do realize," Nigel informed her quietly.

"No, I _don't_ realize, actually. Why don't you just pop on over and get the man yourself—I'm sure he's got to have some kind of picture in his…" And then her brain caught up with her, and she realized the extent of what she'd just been told. "He…he's been _here_? _Snape?_ Snape's been in my room?"

Nigel, of course, paid her no heed. "Actually, I do believe that is a _swimming_ idea. I think I'll do just that."

"Wait!" she all but screamed.

He waited.

"You…said he'd been in here?"

"Oh, yes. Just the other day, if memory serves. He seemed to take particular interest in your post."

Oh dear. "My…post?"

"Indeed, if that is in fact what lies on your armoire, just there."

He pointed. She looked.

…and grew more furious by the second. What business did Snape have with anything she got by owl? What business did Snape have in her room _at all?_

None, that's what. None, whatsoever.

"Thank you, Nigel," she dismissed. "That was…" _oddly_ "helpful."

The moment the man was gone, disappeared from view around the corner in his painting, Aurora pounced. Anxious, sorting through mail and more accurately sending the whole stack sailing through the air in a whirlwind of partially ripped papers—coordination was _not_ her strong point—she tried to imagine what in Merlin's name Snape would want with her mail and drew a very long and frustrating blank.

If there was any logical reason as to why the man who usually claimed to (at least) strongly dislike her would have taken it upon himself to snoop through her belongings—unpleasant even for _her_, at times—then it was lost on her.

It was around that time that a new thought struck her, and she halted in the middle of gathering her cluttered jumble of a mess in order to give it the proper disgust it was due.

He'd been right here—right where she was standing. Snape. In her room. Breathing this air and standing on this rug.

…_looking_ at her mail.

She felt a chill rise in her skin as gooseflesh—because it was so…_unnatural,_ of course.

It was the same kind of unnatural that people dreamed about…in nightmares, anyway.

Quickly, she glanced around to make sure nothing particularly embarrassing was lying noticeably about—chiefly underwear, or some strange and unfashionable…

Oh, dear God. The magazine clippings—each one of them a new definition of abhorrent—were sitting spread out on the table-top for all the world (or, sneaky malicious goblins) to see, displaying all manner of the wizarding world's _worst_ dresses. Right on the table. Certainly not in the rubbish where they belonged, oh no, but right out in the open where her trusting and unsuspecting self had stuffed them without even another thought.

Brilliant. If there had been any doubt in his mind before as to whether she was utterly useless when it came to fashion, this had likely cleared that right up. Aurora Sinistra: practiced Snape tormentor, Astronomy fiend, and the absolute last word in bad taste.

Well, it wasn't as if he hadn't already looked down on her, she consoled herself. At least she didn't have to climb a footstool to teach class.

Poor Flitwick. Some days, she really felt for him. It must have been awfully difficult for him to wash his hands.

A slight rustle from Nigel's picture caught her attention, and she turned to see that he had reclaimed his position as its central focal point.

"Well…?" she prodded tentatively, not sure she wanted to know the answer.

The small man faced her imploringly. "Yes-what?" was all he seemed capable of offering.

"Well, what was he doing?"

"Reading."

"_Reading?_ …my mail?" She quickly jumped to make sure she wasn't missing any, but Nigel headed her off.

"Oh no, not at all. On the contrary, was reading a compiled novel."

"What, _How to Offend, Murder, and Otherwise Torture Pesky Mortals in Less than Five Minutes_? Except, wait, he doesn't need lessons."

The expression—if a painting could truly _have_ an expression—on her portrait's face was less surprised than she might've expected. "Actually, I believe he was reading the works of William Shakespeare."

"_Shakespeare?_" she felt herself choke, the word stuck in her throat on the way out. Snape reading muggle literature? Snape reading _Shakespeare?_

_Scoff_. Not possible.

If must've been the _other_ Severus Snape at the school…because there was no way at _all_ in a million years that the Snape she knew would ever pick up a copy of, say, _Much Ado about Nothing_ for a bit of light reading. It was the equivalent of Minerva McGonnagal hopping into her lap and purring, of Rubeus Hagrid reavealing a hidden talent for opera vocals, of Rolanda Hooch suddenly expressing an uncanny obsession with humpback whales.

Absolutely impossible.

Except, there was always the thought that maybe she _didn't_ actually know him at all, which was more than a little unnerving. …not to say she _wanted_ to, or anything. That would just be ridiculous.

Who wanted to know the deepest, darkest secrets of a slimy git like Snape? Not anyone by the name of Aurora Sinistra, of course.

Nope.

Not her.

_No_, thank you.

"—is what I said," droned Nigel in his usual cheery going-to-take-over-the-world-with-a-smile-on-my-face tone of voice, and she had to cringe.

Oh, rats. He'd actually been saying something to her. Which was surprising, observing the very few amount of people who actually spoke to her. …even if he probably didn't count as part of that statistic due to the inconvenient little fact that he was, unfortunately, a _picture_.

A bunch of oil smeared on canvas with a couple jinxes in place, and she was actually _listening_ to the thing. Truly, her logic was profound.

"Are you sure?" Aurora pressed, deeming this a very safe sort of well-yes-I-was-listening-can't-you-tell question.

Nigel opted to look perplexed, which if she thought about it may not have been a very good sign. "Yes. I believe so. I may be a good bit nearsighted, but I _can_ read, you know."

And it was at that point that she was relieved the duty of deciding whether or not she cared (although a part of her held a slight curiosity towards what, exactly, Nigel had wanted to consult Snape about), because the wonderful Pomona Sprout took that opportunity to make herself a grand entrance by bursting right through Aurora's door like it certainly hadn't been locked—which it had, and she was seriously contemplating murdering whoever invented _alohomora_—and declaring "Good morning; hope you're decent, dear. I've got a surprise for you!"

Rule number one concerning the life of Aurora Sinistra: do not ever, _ever_ consult Aunt Shermie on how to marinate a chicken. It will never go well. Swiftly followed by rule number two: do not, under any circumstance, take anything Severus Snape says seriously.

But rule three was one she liked to call "do _not_ accept surprises from friends—always, always, _always_ a bad idea." Surprises equaled never good. Not even from strangers.

Thus why, the very second the word "surprise" left Sprout's lips, Aurora was halfway across the room with her hands over her ears in fierce preparation for the worst.

As per custom, Sprout only laughed at her, oblivious to the pains of what it meant to live as Aurora Sinistra. "Oh, don't be so ungrateful. It's nothing unnatural."

That, Aurora concluded, would be for _her_ to decide.

Only…when Sprout plunged a hand into her pocket and dragged out a beaded scarf, brandishing it as if it was the golden goose of all things clothing related, Aurora didn't quite know _what_ to think.

…a scarf. A purple, sequined and beaded translucent number with a touch of feathering. Beautiful, yes, but ingenius? MacDaddy of all scarves? …not really, no. Not as far as she could tell, anyway, but she wasn't oblivious to the fact that it wouldn't be all that difficult for her to miss something. Merlin knew she was blind as poor Professor Trelawney the day Herman Fulp, Hufflepuff that he was, knocked over and stomped on her glasses purely on accident.

Immediately, suspicion paraded in on the tail end of her confusion.

"Thanks," she said, because she wasn't _completely_ socially inept, but added, "but what does it do?"

Sprout beamed, practically glowing, and this more than anything else was slightly terror-inducing. "That's the best part, actually. See, it's guaranteed to conceal all those pesky lovebites Severus is bound to give you when you go off together to your brother's wedding."

Dear Merlin, the woman believed herself. She said it like it was a _good_ thing.

Aurora couldn't help but gape a little bit. Because that was what reasonable, normal people did when presented with _unreasonable, irrational_ thoughts.

"Pomona…" At least it wasn't like the _last_ surprise she'd received, she told herself, which had enchanted a small wooden figurine of Gilderoy Lockhart to follow her around and do her bidding to the extent that it started wacking at her ankles if she wasn't giving it something to do. "It isn't that I don't appreciate the sentiment or anything, because I do, but…seriously, come on. Snape's not _going_ to be coming with me, and he's _definitely_ not going to be anywhere near my neck. I mean, the man wouldn't touch me with a ten foot pole if his life depended on it."

"Don't be ridiculous, dear," contradicted Sprout assuredly. "Of course he's coming with you. And the only reason he'd be afraid to touch you would be that if he did, he wouldn't be able to stop."

_Ha. Ha, ha._ That was _funny._ He was going with her—so that was why he'd explicitly told her, quote, "And what, may I ask—" insert snark-filled grimace, "makes you think that I will agree to that solicitation?" Not only was he obnoxiously _un_smitten, as Pomona liked to call him, but if he wasn't sick to the stomach and making a hasty excursion to the loo at the thought of touching her in any way then her name was Fiona Ludluck.

Who, apparently, was more appalling to Snape than herself. Go figure.

_Not_ that Severus Snape was the almighty judge of the attractive factor. Seeing as he was extremely and irrevocably _un_attractive in every way. …not that she cared. Because she didn't. At _all._

"Disgusted," Aurora offered, "is the word you're looking for, here. He would be _disgusted_."

"Don't be so stereotypical, dear. He's in denial, that's all."

_Denial?_ Is that what they were calling it these days—some kind of secret code for _urgent need to poison you in your sleep_ loathing?

Honestly, the irony was a touch overpowering. …or perhaps that was Sprout's perfume.

But, _really._ A slimy git of a man who could barely manage to cough out the words "Good morning, Professor Sinistra," whenever she had to squeeze past his end of the table, and Sprout thought he was in _denial_—with _her_…Aurora Sinistra. Hardly a goddess of beauty, even on the best of days. In fact, she more often than not made even Umbridge look more like a vixen than a toad in comparison.

Not that it counted, or anything.

"Pomona, _please_." So she had resorted to begging. "The only reasonably significant _speck_ of denial in this entire school belongs to none other than you…and, okay, maybe Granger and Weasley."

"And Dumbledore and McGonnagal?" Sprout piped, ever the matchmaker.

"Well…" And then there was _that_. "Sure. But that isn't the point."

Then again, what _was_ her point, exactly? She wasn't too sure, anymore.

"Right, right," the herbologist agreed good-naturedly. "We all know how you and Severus _dislike_ each other so much." Sprout winked.

Oh, the _nerve_. It was simply unfathomable. Horrendous. She was going to—

…whirl on her door and take exactly three steps backwards in the event of a very loud and obnoxious knock.

"Quick!" hissed the herbologist a lot louder than was necessary. "Put it on! Hurry up!"

Oh, yes. The scarf.

To put on or not to put on: that was the question. …or, it would have been, had she not been so busy failing to picture Snape enjoying Shakespeare. Because Snape didn't _enjoy_, well, anything. Much less classy works of brilliance.

As it turned out, Aurora didn't exactly prove to have much choice in the matter.

"Yes, who is it?" Sprout called, taking the liberty of assuming door duty as Sinistra cowered in a corner and pondered over her purple-ish deemed-lovebite-concealer.

Who would actually waste their time climbing all the way up the Astronomy Tower to see her, anyway, besides either Sprout or a severely deranged individual? It was a wonder to her people knew that she did, in fact, exist, much less knew how to find her.

Sprout made a hasty movement which could be translated as "put the scarf on, already, or I'll do it for you," and Aurora decided in that moment that it would be best to simply go along with it.

Donning said purple neck accessory, the Astronomy professor didn't have much time even to fret over the whole whether or not she matched deal before her door was rudely thrust open and an intimidating voice peeled in.

"I assure you this is as pleasant for myself as it is for you."

She was nearly knocked on her sometimes-okay-but-usually-not shaped butt for shock, if not for the somewhat important factoid that falling on her butt was virtually impossible to do whilst standing in a corner with her back to the wall.

"Severus!" Sprout cried, sounding suspiciously unsurprised. That was, she didn't have to be so _enthusiastic_ about it, for Merlin's sake. "So nice of you to drop by! To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Revisiting the scene of the crime, was he? Well, she'd let him know _exactly_ what she thought of _that_.

"You!" she accused eloquently, which was probably about the first word she'd spoken to his face since that one time in the corridor after the Peeves Incident.

Naturally, his response to this was to push past Sprout and glide right across the carpet like he owned it, heading for the far wall where Nigel hung and not even acknowledging that he'd ever been spoken to at all.

"Where?" posed the Potions Master in his usual vague pratishness, addressing her painting with a look of impatience.

She at least hoped that this ambiguous demand made _some_ sense to Nigel, because Sinistra herself could make neither heads nor tails of his freakishness.

The man in the painting, however, seemed just about as lost as she was: further testament to the knowledge that Severus Snape lacked any and all grace or tact in the art of communication. "Where…?" Nigel parroted back, which (as was fully deserved) seemed to annoy Snape.

But, confused as she may have been, sit back and watch any longer she would not.

"Hey!" He didn't even blink. "_Hey!_ You can't just invite yourself into my room and start having secret conversations with my paintings! You didn't even say hello!"

"_Where_," Snape intoned, ignoring her once again, "is your alternate—your other painting. You are in possession of one, I presume, outside of this castle."

Sprout edged her way over to Aurora after having shut the door, elbowing her none-too-subtly in the waist. "You don't think it's the least bit odd?"

In the league of dumb questions—which she thoroughly believed _did_ exist, and should not have been shunned alongside other such myths as the tooth fairy—this ranked as one of the highest by far.

"_Odd?_ That he barged into my private chambers and started interrogating the picture on my wall? Yeah, I actually might consider it."

"No, no, no—not that," Sprout hedged. "Odd that he climbed all the way up here, which is really a formidable hike from the dungeons, by the by, to see your picture? You know that's an excuse, right? I do hope you realize why he's _really_ here."

Not three yards off, she heard Nigel droning cheerily: "Well, you see, chap, it's actually rather difficult for me to tell Africa from Indonesia from the inside of a lavatory."

For a moment, she took time to appreciate the humor in Snape being referred to as "chap" by a little man not half a foot tall made of oil paints and canvas.

"I do hope _you_ realize," the Astronomy professor, once the moment was over, shot back under her breath, "that he's _right_ here."

Sprout seemed a bit startled, as if she hadn't actually considered this notion. "He is, isn't he? Would you like me to leave? I should leave, shouldn't I?"

"No!" she practically shouted it, causing Nigel to pause slightly in what sounded like an already losing explanation. "You will _not_, under _any_ circumstance, leave me alone with…_him_."

"Oh, I see," the herbologist nodded sagely. "You're nervous. But don't be—sex is only natural, dear."

"Er-what?" Merlin, it was barely ten o'clock yet. "No! Just…_no!_"

"You mean you don't want to have a little go 'round the block?" Sprout eyed her skeptically. "It's been awhile since your last, hasn't it? That isn't rightly healthy, you know."

"No, no, no!" Could she _possibly_ have said it any louder?

"You do, then?"

"_No!_"

"Well, then I…oh, dear. You're afraid of being forced into it, aren't you? Waiting for the right moment, is that it?"

She couldn't have been more wrong. …and Aurora couldn't have been more disgusted. "Absolutely not."

"You're afraid you might force _him_?"

"No. Mona, no…no. _No._"

"Aurora, dear, I can't exactly help you if you don't tell me what's wrong."

"_Nothing!_" She'd honestly never wanted to throttle her friend any more in her entire life than she did just then. "_Nothing_ is wrong, Pomona. Severus Snape and I are not _lovers_. We do not _love_ each other. We are not going to _do_ it. We're not even going to _partially_ do it. I am not _attracted_ to him, and frankly, the thought of _sex_ coupled with _Snape_ is so much of a turn-off it makes me physically sick to think about."

Or, at least, whatever bludger-like beating her stomach was taking and the strange tingling at the tips of her fingers sure _felt_ a lot like sickness, and she wasn't one to contradict her own body when she could help it.

Sprout was looking as guilty as she rightly should have…which might have been glaringly _weird_, had Aurora not been basking in the aftermath of what had clearly been a stupendous triumph on her part. What she _would_ have noticed, had she been paying more attention, was the remarkably _un_subtle way the herbologist's eyes kept darting up to a spot just over her left shoulder at a rate which was not passably normal.

Which meant…

_Oh, God. Please no._

"Incidentally, I could not agree more," pronounced a voice over her shoulder.

He was standing right behind her.

In one painfully slow movement she turned to face him as, from out of the corner of her eye, she watched Sprout sidle for the door. Leaving her high and dry. …or, as was the more likely option, maintaining and following up on her little theory that if one meddling herbologist was not present then Snape and Sinistra would somehow develop lustful feelings for one another and fall on top of each other in an act of unbridled passion.

Ignoring the fact that, once turned towards him, he was much closer than necessary, and trying her best not to blush (because there was no way she was blushing in front of an unkempt children-eater such as him), Aurora stood her ground. "I'm glad we can at least agree on one thing, then. Did you have a nice talk with my painting?"

Again with the scowling. What was new?

"If by such a statement you mean satisfactorily educational, I must sorely disappoint."

"That's what you get for storming in here without saying good morning, then. It wouldn't kill you to be polite at least _some_ of the time. What do you want with Nigel, anyway?"

It was phenomenal, how he could make her blood boil with just a simple look. "Nothing that is of your concern, rest assured."

A suspiciously cheerful painting who, she suspected, plotted what steps he would need to take to successfully bring the world to its knees and the castle's most devious Potions Master were consulting one another behind everyone's backs _right_ in her room…and it didn't concern her? Somehow, she begged to differ.

"It _is_ something that concerns me, Sev," she emphasized the shortened name because she knew he probably couldn't stand it, "and I'll tell you why. Because these are _my_ chambers, and Nigel is _my_ picture, and you're _my_…" _My_ what? Snape? _Her_ Snape? "…well, you're you. Which means it has everything to do with me."

How dare he stand there looking down at her like he had no idea what she was talking about. How _dare_ he raise his eyebrows and say, in that grating way of his, "I fail to see your point."

"Don't you_ even_ give me that line, Severus. You know damn well this concerns me, so stop pretending it doesn't and make both our lives a little easier by fessing up."

He'd gone through her _mail_, after all. Who _did_ that, anyway?

Actually, by the time she'd worked up the nerve to stick it to him and, for the most part, gotten around to it, he was already heading out her door.

Well, _swooping_ seemed more of an accurate term, really, but this was of no true consequence, the point being that he honestly had the gall to walk out on her mid-sentence.

Which really _shouldn't_ have been surprising. This was Snape, after all; when _wasn't_ he rude? Only this time, she liked to think, was particularly uncalled for.

With that in mind, Aurora launched herself after him in a single deft motion worthy of applause, latching onto the material of his sleeve before he could get too far and reigning him back in.

It wasn't as if it _bothered_ her, his not telling her something. Not necessarily, anyway. She knew well enough that it would be much simpler and all-around a more enjoyable experience to pry the information from Nigel later, and besides, she wasn't _that_ neurotic.

Not yet, at any rate. A few more years with the likes of one greasy, stuck-up Potions professor might do the trick.

But truly, it wasn't so much what he wasn't telling her as how he went about doing so that was the problem.

She was wearing a bedazzled, blindingly purple, and most likely very mismatched scarf with which to conceal nonexistent "lovebites," for Merlin's sake. The very least he could do, next to giving it the Sneer of Lore, would be to comment on its counterproductive qualities to the already somewhat retina-burning "charm" of her ensemble.

But no. Not even "what is that thing around your neck?" Not even a _hello_.

…not that he ever said hello, much. But it would be nice nonetheless if he did.

At any rate, none of this mattered once she'd gotten a good grip on his sleeve and had tugged him to a halt. Mostly because the scarf around her neck decided to take this as the perfect opportunity to become uncomfortably tight, chafing on her skin, and she let go of Snape to reach up a hand in search of what, precisely, she'd gotten it caught on, lest she become choked to death at his feet out of her own stupidity.

Her wonderfully purple scarf, however, didn't seem to agree with the notion of allowing her to breathe. The more she tugged, the tighter it became, and what was more it became fairly clear after a couple seconds of Aurora-esque flailing that it wasn't exactly _caught_ on much of anything.

Which was entirely weird, and warranted another moment's worth of frantic flailing as her airway continued to become more constricted and Snape watched her all the while with this _look_, just standing there like he couldn't be bothered to actually _do_ anything to help.

Once her level of suffocation increased from mildly uncomfortable and inconvenient to _oxygen would be appreciated now, please—dear Merlin, I'm going to die_, she started to suspect that her scarf might have been trying to kill her of its own volition. By the time she began to feel her stomach clench and her limbs prickle with adrenaline, more or less certain that her face was inevitably turning a nice shade of blue, there was no doubt in her mind.

Her scarf was trying to murder her. And succeeding.

Which was honestly such a laughably horrible way to go—_not_ quite what she fancied under her name in an obituary—that she might have cried over it had she not been so occupied with trying to prevent it from happening.

"Would you _do something_," Aurora attempted to hiss at the Potions professor still staring at her efforts as if she was simply making a pot of tea, but it really only came out as a series of ugly squeaks.

As panic started to set in, alongside the realization that Snape was utterly _useless_, she felt her knees slam into the floor—when had she fallen?—with a jarring impact that she wasn't too keen on feeling later. …if there _was _a later.

The Astronomy professor fumbled desperately for her wand through the excess of her robes, found it, and promptly dropped it. If she'd had time or breath she might've spat out a few choice words that would've surprised even Snape, but as it was she only scrambled to grab at it, jammed a few hexes at her scarf, and dropped it a second time.

This time, it rolled.

And someone was muttering something in the background, but she wasn't paying attention on account of the fact that she _couldn't breathe_.

Spots started to crowd her vision, and Aurora took the time to muse on the fact that _this was it_ as she felt herself becoming weaker, twisting and trembling on the floor in hopes that one of her hands might run across her wand. He was probably enjoying this.

But really, she'd always been under the impression that when a person died that something really special would happen—or at least something cool enough to make up for the fact that she was going to die and all. Like seeing a dead relative, for example, or a little light at the end of a tunnel. Like feeling some kind of uncanny serene calm, or hearing the voice of God, or having some omniscient out-of-body experience like some giant floating eyeball.

She couldn't help but feel the slightest bit disappointed by the fact that, in reality, it was none of these.

It was a bit like falling asleep, if sleep was _chokingly painful_ and there was an astonished voice that might scream "My God!" from somewhere in the far corner.

No flashbacks, no confessions of undying love, no momentous realizations…just a freakish sense of dread and dizziness that she was somewhat grateful she could still feel.

And then another voice, silky and demanding, right over her ear: "Be still, Aurora." She didn't see why she should, but the owner of the voice was by no means to be taken lightly. "Be _still_," he growled, harsher yet. "Unless you'd like to die, in which case I'd have no objections."

The anger, more than anything else, gave her the strength to do as she was commanded.

As soon as she did, a particularly nasty ripping sound punctuated the freedom allotted to her very much neglected trachea, and for a whole minute and a half she was too busy dissolving into a heaving fit of coughing and gasping and otherwise choking on the air she would much rather have simply inhaled to notice at first the remains of her discarded scarf as it floated down to greet her.

…or the hasty hand that reached down to snatch it up.

"Where did you acquire this?" was his first inquiry.

Aurora begrudgingly opened her eyes and followed the fisted scarf all the way up to his eyes which regarded the article with his best possible glare—which was a pretty good effort, she had to say—as she waited for her dizziness to go on its merry way and leave her be.

"Er…" At some point after regaining a sense of balance and feeling, it occurred to her that it was actually very strange, his having planted a steady hand on her shoulder. Granted, it certainly kept her from falling on her face, and it definitely wasn't anything close to what was supposed to be reassuring, but…there was something singularly odd about the pressure of his fingerpads on her shoulder, like it was actually _normal_ or something, Merlin forbid.

…which was clearly _not_ something she wanted to think about. Ever.

Oh, yes.

His question.

Right.

"Um, it was a present. Mona—Sprout gave it to me." At the resulting expression on his face, she decided that further explanation was indeed necessary. "That is, I don't know where she got it from, but I swear to you she'd never try to hurt me or anything. Not intentionally. …and before you ask, _yes_, I'm sure it was her."

Because no one else on the planet would have given her anything under the guise that she was operating in a semi-romantic relationship with the most despised man in the school, except maybe Dumbledore. Who was out of the question, due to the fact that he'd no sooner saunter up to her room and urge her to have sex with one Severus Snape than she would him.

"It was cursed," stated Snape curtly.

No, really? Stating the obvious was _so_ helpful.

"Bravo," she grumbled miserably, standing to collapse on the edge of her bed and massage her neck. "I never could have come to that brilliant conclusion myself. Thank you, really."

So much for the purple lovebite concealer.

Snape made no further comment on the matter, _much_ to her surprise, but he did choose to look up to examine her neck with what was obviously a realization on his part of the small little detail that she might've actually _died_. He probably liked that idea, though.

It was thoroughly embarrassing, she had come to the conclusion, to be saved from certain death at the mercy of a clothing accessory by a man who, according to previous actions, would much rather she just snuff it already. Hardly the first thing that came to mind when faced with imagined scenarios of last minute triumph in the face of death, but somehow, it was to be expected.

At the cool touch of fingertips at her throat, she flinched. It wasn't everyday that she was serviced to the privilege of a full-on intent staring session focused somewhere beneath her jaw, after all, and by none other than the likes of _him_, no less. Needless to say, it was a tad unnerving.

Her flinch gave him pause, but apparently not enough. He took a step closer—which was entirely too close, she was convinced—to trace lightly over an uncertain pattern, and for a second's worth of gaping at his transfixed expression, she had absolutely _no idea_ what he was doing or whether she should start running.

Except, then she came to the clever discovery that, due to the fact that she'd quite recently been assaulted by her own scarf, her throat was very likely liable to make her resemble a purple Dalmatian. Or a giraffe. Or both, in which case she had no qualms about removing the object of a mirror from her life for around the next two weeks.

Because honestly, if Severus Snape was reduced to coming any closer to her than he had to—a very rare occurrence, these days—then she really _didn't_ want to know.

To drive home exactly how very close he was, she could literally see the movement of his throat when he swallowed—could _hear_ the saliva sliding down his esophagus.

All the more evidence for her "Snape is a vampire" theory.

Though, as far as she could tell, Snape was a lot of things.

So far, she'd counted nasty goblin, overgrown bat, werewolf in secret, evil James Bond with cannibalistic tendencies towards children, and fan of Shakespeare. And, of course, vampire.

Which, come to think of it, would explain whatever ill-bred sympathies he harbored for snakes, a.k.a. Slytherins. It was the whole fangs thing: it must've been some kind of communal trademark, like how men and gorillas shared some amount of connection on account of the fact that they could both twiddle their thumbs and pick their noses.

Because when it came down to it, she never saw him taking ridiculous amounts of house points from _Slytherin_ because some poor, unfortunate soul happened to accidentally transform last night's essay into a miniature fire-breathing flamingo named (naturally) Fiona.

Although, that could also have been because he was, technically, the head of the house and all.

But _still_.

She didn't dare move. Dear Merlin, she could feel his _breath_. There was a point at which careful examination became flat-out creepy staring, and she was pretty sure that for Snape it had reached that point. What did he care, anyway? He was supposed to be snickering evilly to himself about how utterly absurd she looked, not leering at her like he'd never seen a bruise before.

"Erm…" she said. She couldn't help it. It just…came out. What else was there to say? Judging by the look on his face, she didn't think even _he_ knew what he was doing.

And the very millisecond it slipped out, he froze. His eyes snapped up. His fingers stopped. And for this one painfully slow moment, it was all he could do to stare—not in the way he'd been doing before, like Trelawney during one of her episodes with fate and premonitions, but with this deer-in-headlights kind of…_staring_.

Not maliciously. Not irritated. Not mocking, even. Just…staring. And, okay, maybe a little bit startled. Besides that, though, it reminded her of the _look_.

Which was _so_ not cool she couldn't even begin to describe it.

He'd even officially stopped breathing—that was the extent of how nuts he'd gone. Aurora was honestly somewhat afraid of whether or not she'd somehow managed to break him.

It was then that she noticed that somewhere along the line, and she wasn't sure exactly when, she'd stopped breathing, too. Out of sheer confusion and terror, of course. That was, it wasn't like she was _anticipating_ anything, or anything like that. A simply preposterous idea, that.

It was almost painful, how long he just stood there staring up at her, canted forwards with his mouth slightly agape. And she would've said something about it—honestly, she would—to the effect of how utterly and incredibly _weird_ he was being, if not for the look in his eyes, all that battling flux of uncertainty and awe and disappointment and all things dazzlingly _human_, that was barreling full-force straight into her and pinning her down. Needless to say, she kept her mouth resolutely shut.

She didn't particularly trust herself not to say something stupid. More distinctly, something like "well, drat, you're not really a goblin, are you?"

So, in protection of her perceived sanity…or, what was left of it, Aurora was left to sit on the edge of her bed—grateful for the sitting part, because if she wasn't she might've actually happened to plummet herself sideways—and endure the way Snape was looking at her.

It wasn't what she would call an _unpleasant_ look, really, it was just…

Well, except, yes: it was a very unpleasant look. Very _un_flattering and _un_attractive and certainly _not_ in any way exciting. It was malevolent and poisonous. Unpleasant indeed.

It was definitely _not_ something she could ever get used to.

At this point, the Awkwardly Intense Staring Session having really only lasted maybe a few seconds—which she was well aware of , please and thank you…it wasn't as if time had slowed down, or anything—Snape chose to clear his throat rather loudly and unnecessarily.

Also weird.

"So, er…it's that bad, then, I take it?" hedged Aurora, making a gesture towards her throat in all hopes of playing off whatever the hell had just happened like a bad joke.

The Potions Master, naturally failing to comprehend the extensive genius behind this move, only scowled. And, of course, backed up about five feet towards the door.

"A scant number of bruises are a fair trade to remain among the living, you should agree."

"Well, yeah," because she couldn't exactly deny that one, "but I'd still rather it hadn't happened at all, you know? I mean, as lucky as I am to be alive and all, I'm probably the only professor in the entire castle that can manage to get murdered via scarf, so I'd call that pretty unlucky."

"Luck," he hissed delicately, "has very little to do with it. If I had not been present to offer the protection of a countercurse, I assure you that you would be invariably dead."

Way to put it lightly. "I could've managed!"

"Aurora, by the time at which I intervened, you were…shall I say, rolling about on the floor like an animal. You most certainly would not have 'managed.' "

"Okay, so maybe I panicked, but so what? It's not like—"

"Your due lack of gratitude is to be expected; however, it is imperative you find where your Professor Sprout acquired the item."

"Lack of gratitude?" she exploded back at him, coming off the bed and towards him in order to more properly demand it of him. She'd earned her right to be fairly pissed off, in her opinion; nearly dying had to count for something, after all. "Thanks so much—is that what you want? Do you require _payment_ for your services, or something? Thank you, really, but like I said, I can manage. I mean, it's not like you care, is it? I honestly don't even know why on earth you bothered!"

Maybe she imagined it—because she wasn't putting hallucinations past herself at this point—but it seemed to her like he looked the slightest bit hurt by this. But that was just…not possible. It had probably been his excuse for a disgusted grimace.

"A mystery even to myself," he growled in retaliation, but she was _far_ too overwhelmed to be adding intimidation to the mix. "Believe me, I regret it already."

"You know what?" Aurora spat, proud of herself for having the courage to spit at a man like Snape. She marched up to shove a finger into the center of his chest, feeling more than a little cliché, but it was well worth it to see him retreat a couple steps. Hell hath no fury, and all that.

Oh-so-surprisingly, he didn't "know what."

"No, really—you know what? Do you?" She didn't wait for an answer. "The only _lack _of anything in this room is you—your _dire_ lack of simple manners, Sev. You could at least refrain yourself from interrupting, but you might even go so far as to, you know, ask if I'm okay? That would be the _normal_ thing to do, Severus."

She could've brought up the whole invading her personal space and casually perusing her mail thing—she really could've. As far as unreasonable lackings of manners went, that ranked pretty high-up on her list. For some reason that was probably to do with how actually looking into his face made her lose track of what she was going to say, though, she didn't mention it.

"Would this be a bad time to point out," said a voice she recognized as Nigel's, "that your wand is about to catch fire?"

Well, she might've said _yes_, it _was_ a bad time to point this out—if she hadn't been whipping around in a panic which clearly rivaled the burning of Rome. _Her_ wand? On _fire?_

Dear Merlin, how did she accomplish such things?

"Where?" she screeched, right before she spotted it. On the hearth, jutting into the (naturally, burning) fireplace. Tripping over the plush fibers of her rug on the way there, Aurora made a pitiful lunge for it that might've actually landed her face-first into the fire herself had it not been for Snape.

Her hasty stumbling—as if she made a point to hit the floor as fast as possible—turned out to be a tad less hasty than Snape's foot. He made it there with time to spare, sweeping out a leg to soundly kick her wand—which was smoking somewhat—away from the fire. It was his side that prevented her from crashing herself into a fate similar to what her wand's had been; in diving for the wand, she more or less pummeled into his hip.

The force of which moved him all of about nowhere. A nanometer, maybe. Probably a good thing, though, considering he was standing over the fireplace and all.

"Dammit," she swore as she felt her glasses—the thick, horn-rimmed deal she'd never dare to wear outside the walls of her room—fly off of her face in an aerobatic trajectory for the floor. She heard the impact of the frame meeting up with the rug a few feet off.

Anyone else might've been impressed. At her general ineptitude, anyway.

Because it was Snape, however, he only scoffed in his usual Aurora-you-are-the-least-intelligent-being-I-know fashion.

She made no argument. Instead, she efficiently detached herself from his side enough to crawl over to her wand and examine it. All in all, it wasn't so bad. A few singes, yes, but—and here, she flicked it vaguely in the direction of the fire, watching it vanish and checking for defects—it could've been worse. Way worse.

Like, accidentally causing her fire to rear up and devour Snape worse.

Aurora sighed. Extensively. "So…thanks."

She knew she was going to have to look up at some point: going to have to look at his face, going to have to meet his eye. Strictly speaking, it was inevitable. Just…she didn't want to.

Because she knew, she _just knew_, that she was going to see something she didn't much like, be it _the look_ or any one of a number of his assorted…_looks_.

"I believe you dropped…_these_." He snarled the word, as if the thought of anything even a tiny bit associated with her was the epitome of all things worthy of immense disgust and disapproval. To him, it probably was.

But no, she was not going to look up at him. Because that would require actually looking at his expression. Which wasn't allowed.

Then, somewhere between kneeling and standing, she felt something touch the side of her face…something that slid down to rest behind her ears and on top of her nose. Despite the fact that it really sort of tickled—she could _still_ feel it tingling—she froze, and before even allowing herself to be shocked that he'd done it, she had to take a moment to be astonished by the fact that he _had_ done it.

From personal experience, she knew _exactly_ how difficult it was to put on someone else's glasses for them without causing irreplaceable damage to their ears, not to mention poking out an eye or two. But _him_…he'd just walked on over and slid them right onto her face like it was _nothing_.

Merlin, he didn't even _wear_ glasses.

It wasn't fair, that's what it was. Where did he get off, acting all cool like that?

So instead of whipping out her handy arsenal of quick comebacks, all she could really get out was "Oh…"

At which point, there was no avoiding it anymore. She just had to.

So, after an excessively deep breath and a couple swallows, she looked up.


	7. Libra: Touching Detail

So, for all you secretly (or openly) dirty-minded, go ahead and get your giggles out in preparation for the ending. I'll be the first to admit it's easy to laugh at. :)

* * *

><p>Libra: Touching Detail<p>

It was, in her experience, actually incredibly difficult to look at someone's face and conjure up what they were thinking. With regards to the stars in the sky, and, if she thought about it, everything else too, observant was practically her middle name. It was the one thing she was, believe it or not, good at.

Just…for some unknowable reason, it didn't exactly work the same way with people. Personally, she liked to think she was lacking something in the expertise—that the Guy Who Lived Upstairs had just conveniently skipped right over her when it came to the whole social department.

Sometimes, of course, she didn't need to read any deeper into what she was seeing; sometimes it was really just that shallow…as in the case of McGonnagal's thin-lipped scowls or Snape's specially reserved glares. It was just that simple. Either she'd done something monumentally stupid—which she was _very _prone to doing—or they were in a foul mood because someone else had. …or, in Snape's case, no one had—he just had eternal unhappiness plastered onto his face.

A lot of the time, though, it didn't really work out quite so nicely. She couldn't expect everyone to be as disturbingly blatant as _Snape_, after all. …which she convinced herself was a very good thing.

It wasn't that she was dreadfully challenged by the task, or anything…just, when a man like Severus Snape peers directly into one's soul with eyes like black fire, it's a tad difficult to tell what _oneself_ is feeling, let alone sift through and decipher _his_ mess of tangled-up signals.

Therefore, Aurora prided herself in coming up with the brilliant plan of not thinking about it. …a plan she got only ten minutes into implementing before she also realized that it was just a smidgeon difficult to _not_ think about something she clearly had to _think_ about not thinking about.

"Good morning!" sang a voice at the bottom of the staircase, effectively smashing through her thoughts in a way like no other. She didn't have to look up to know who it was, but when she did, she found Sprout waiting for her at the last step, leaning into the railing with an expression that practically _oozed_ excitement.

When the herbologist got a good look at _Aurora_, however, her excitement ebbed a bit. "Well! You look…er…"

"Positively awful—you can say it. I know." Such were the results of a night spent with unlearned first-years and thoughts of _looks_ so absolutely _un_appealing they made her skin crawl. With disgust, of course.

"No, I was actually thinking more along the lines of _ravaged_. You were, weren't you?"

And the excitement was back in full force, Sprout at her heels as she made her way leisurely as she pleased down the corridor—leisurely because it was Saturday. The best day of the week, in her opinion, although it was already being put to shame for the second sentence spoken in her presence.

"Not exactly," she sighed, and she couldn't quite keep a tone of resignation from creeping into her voice.

Because by now Aurora had decided she was at least entitled to say she'd been a victim of a little bit of eyeball-rape, and what was worse, she couldn't get it out of her head. …figuratively speaking.

Yes, it was weird. First and foremost, it was probably the creepiest thing that had happened to her. Which, living in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry under the administration of Albus _longest-beard-since-Merlin_ Dumbledore alongside The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-One-Up-He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named-Two-And-A-Half-More-Times, was actually saying a lot.

But…there was just something about it that she couldn't forget—and so help her if she knew what that was.

"Not exactly isn't exactly a no," offered Sprout over her shoulder. "So it's safe to assume you _were?_ How was it?"

"_So_ not what I meant," she said flatly. "No, Mona, we didn't have—" an innocent pause to examine the flooring underfoot as they passed a gaggle of tittering second-year Ravenclaws, "…it wasn't _like_ that. I told you, it's not going to happen."

There was a moment's silence wherein she hoped Sprout took the time to reflect on this. Naturally, she did not.

"Really, now, dear—you've got to stop thinking so negatively. All good things to those who wait. …and to those who take initiative. We _do_ need to work on that with you."

Somehow, she just didn't feel like going through this again with her friend…except, there was something else at the back of her mind, a feeling—wasn't she supposed to be doing something, something to do with Sprout and Snape?

Ah. Right. The scarf. How best the approach the subject…

"Alright, so…here's me taking initiative: where'd you get that scarf you gave me?"

Subtlety: not her strong point. Also, Sprout appeared mildly confused.

"Aurora, dear…I don't see how that information is going to help you with your little…_problem_. I'm sure you mean well, but…dear, Severus doesn't wear _scarves_."

Well…she _had_ walked into that one, but she couldn't help but feel more than a little annoyed with Sprout at this point. Because, honestly, who _wouldn't_ be annoyed?

The woman was virtually obsessed with Snape's nonexistent relationship with Aurora. _Obsessed._ As in, Voldemort and Harry Potter obsessed.

At least _Voldemort_ had a reason, though.

That was, yes, Sprout _was_ just trying to help…but there was a point at which it became too much, and it had definitely reached that point.

"I know that; I wasn't asking because…" They had reached the double doors which opened into the Great Hall, but instead of pushing through them Aurora stopped, holding back her friend. "Look, just…tell me. Please?"

"Oh…" Sprout looked sullen. "Alright. You have that look that means it's important. It was just a couple days ago; I popped over to Knockturn Alley for a bit—dreadful place, really, could use some color, but it's the only place I've ever found cheap dragon dung…because collecting it's got to be a risky business, you know, and there's a shortage of skilled tamers, if I'm honest. Right, anyway, so I was in Knockturn Alley when I saw it—the scarf. The lady who sold it to me was rather aggressive about it; she must not get very much business, I'm afraid, but she was nice enough once I'd bought the thing. I thought of you when I saw it, though, because…well, isn't it just perfect?"

Because "perfect" and _murderous little bugger of an accessory that nearly choked her to death_ didn't quite go together, Aurora couldn't bring herself to agree. Neither could she work up the nerve to tell Sprout about it, though, because…well, between whatever had gone on between her and Snape and how it was twelve kinds of embarrassing to have been almost assassinated by a sequined scarf, she'd rather Sprout just think she'd had copious sex with Snape.

"Er…" she nodded once, hoping it would suffice. "Did you catch her name? Or, did she tell you anything about the scarves that might make them…special?"

There was no way a merchant in Knockturn Alley, who she'd never before in her life even met, wanted her dead and had tried to kill her. That was just being paranoid. It was just her luck that someone with too much time on their hands had decided to play a cruel joke on the next buyer. It was _Knockturn Alley_, after all. There were all sorts of nasties in there. _This_ was why she preferred Diagon—she'd been telling Sylvester for years and now she finally had proof.

Except, wait…

"No, no name that I can remember. We only talked for a moment, dear, and I really don't know what you're on about, but the scarves were only just pretty decorations. Nothing magical, no enchantments…a muggle could wear one and not tell the difference. Frankly, it's probably why they were so inexpensive. Why all these questions? You don't like it?"

She hadn't noticed it before, but come to think of it, it was a tad odd.

"No, of course I like it! It's beautiful, I just…" How did she get herself into these things, again? "I just was thinking, y'know, in case I wanted to buy a present…for the wedding."

The scarf hadn't actually attacked her until long after she'd already put it on.

But why? What could she possibly have done to provoke it?

The first mention of the word "wedding" had Sprout instantly sidetracked and prattling on about…dresses? Champagne? Dresses made of champagne? …probably Snape. It was usually always Snape. Nevertheless, the matter of the scarf was forgotten, which was good because that had been her goal.

As they entered through the doors, a wave hit them of air and noise, the smell of assorted foods awakening a stirring in her stomach that made her mouth water. There was a light dust of snow drifting down from the ceiling that raised a prickle on her skin, even if it was an illusion, and she did her best to ignore it.

Being in the position of professors, they were naturally granted the luxury of the longest walk to reach their seats. This also gave Aurora ample time to make the (very astonishing) discovery that Snape would not be meeting her eye today. …and also to bemoan the fact that there was no bacon. But that hardly qualified as comparable.

Bacon was by far more important than Snape.

The man in question was seated at his usual far end of the table, staring disinterestedly down at his plate.

It was actually a bit insulting. If he was going to put up the guise of not noticing her presence, the least he could do would be to act _interested_ in whatever it was for which he chose to ignore her.

Sprout quieted down in preparation of blatant eavesdropping as they approached his end of the table, but Aurora was fully convinced that she had positively _nothing_ to say to him. And it wasn't like he was going to say anything to _her_. Merlin forbid he ever initiate conversation. That would just be too _normal_—and Snape didn't _do_ normal.

"Good morning…Professor Sprout." His eyes flicked to her for an instant. "…Professor Sinistra."

So it was one of _those_ mornings.

But just for the record, he never did that. _Ever_. Severus Snape did not say _hi_. He did not say _goodbye._ He did not knock on doors before entering (well, not usually—she'd seen him burst through her fair share enough to know). And he _certainly_ did not say _good morning_.

To anyone. Ever. No matter what.

…except maybe Dumbledore, but he didn't count seeing as he was one of the most able-to-kick-your-otherwise-named-butt-and-make-your-life-suck people in the world, if he really felt like it. Which he usually didn't, because he, unlike a certain greasy git of a Potions Master, was a nice guy.

And except on mornings like these, where he was either a) trying his utmost to patronize her and doing a smashing job of it, or b) wanting something from her.

…and not in the way Sprout would approve of.

As the herbologist smirked her way past with a quiet "Morning, Professor," Aurora felt herself catch on something and realized he was holding onto the sleeve of her robes. She turned to him pointedly.

"_Yes_, Severus?"

She was _so_ incredibly not in the mood for this.

Releasing her instantly, as if merely touching the edge of her clothing was too sordid a thought, he directed a meaningful glance—albeit somewhat distastefully—at the empty seat beside himself.

For all of three seconds, she was in a state of catatonic shock. He'd said good morning to her…_and_ he wanted her to sit with him?

She might've gone as far as asking if he was feeling alright, but it was then that he gave her the misfortune of opening his mouth: "I believe we have something of importance to discuss."

For some reason, the sound of his voice only helped to inflame her. She raised her eyebrows at him without sitting. "Do we?"

It wasn't exactly the perfect comeback, but it got the point across rather nicely.

He narrowed his eyes in warning. "You know my meaning. Although it gives me no great pleasure, I must ask you to _please sit down_, and to…_curb_ your enthusiasm."

Contrary to popular belief, Aurora Sinistra was not a completely clueless individual. Stubborn, yes, but…she knew when she was beat, and when to back down.

This being one of those times because, honestly, there was something really very suspicious going on and it had Snape's name written all over it. And she was not one to walk away from what was practically an invitation to a little much-needed Q and A.

"Right. Curbing my enthusiasm." She plopped into the chair at his side, none too happy for it, and helped herself to a large mouthful of muffin as she waited.

When he saw that she was making no immediate effort to speak, he set his fork down with what seemed to be deliberate slowness. "I assume you are competent enough to have remembered to acquire the necessary information?"

She was _definitely_ not in the mood for this. "I assume _you_ are competent enough to ask me a direct question if you want to learn something? Besides, it wasn't _necessary_, it was just…suggested. Highly suggested."

Probably for the best, he chose to ignore that last part. Instead, impatient git that he was, he only growled, "_Where_, if you don't mind, is it's origin?"

"Actually, I think I do mind a bit. Where's what's origin? I think you're going to have to be a little nicer, don't you?" As enjoyable as it was to watch him grip the edge of the table in fury, it was, in hindsight, most likely a very poor idea to tease him as such. If, for some bizarre and unknowable reason, she actually cared—which she didn't—then she might've regretted it. Which she didn't.

"Sinistra." He said her name low under his breath: a cautionary sign that was most certainly the farthest thing in the universe from anything even slightly resembling sexy. Because…ugh.

"Yes, Sev?" Her tone was sickly sweet just to annoy him. Truth be told, it did its job splendidly.

"You fail to recall, so then let me remind you; this is a matter which has threatened your pathetic excuse for what you may call a life. You would do well to respect that, Professor. Unless you prefer to be killed, which I assure you may be arranged."

He was right. And if there was one thing in the universe Aurora couldn't stand, apart from house elves and venomous tentacula, it was when Severus Snape was right.

This time, however, there was obviously something he wasn't telling her, and she was of a mind to figure out exactly what that was. After all, since when did _Snape_ care whether or not she died, much less how and why?

"If you're so sure my life is pathetic, you can't threaten to kill me without first noting that you'd be doing me a service. And you'd _hate_ to actually do me a favor, right? So I wouldn't bother, if I were you."

_That_ shut him up. It was more than a little gratifying, watching him fume next to her with no real way of channeling it (without making sure they were a spectacle for the entire school, anyway)—like telling the world "hey! I can be smart when I want to be!"

They sat there for some time in a tight silence, her smugly polishing off her muffin and him seething in stillness, before she finally took pity on him. If this continued, it was highly likely that he would never get around to eating anything, and Merlin knew he was already creepily gaunt _enough_ without her help.

"I actually asked her this morning," she offered conversationally through the last bit of her muffin. She saw his shoulders relax a bit, which meant she had his attention and he was listening. "She said she'd bought it from some woman in Knockturn, didn't catch the name. They weren't enchanted, is what she said. It's really weird. I mean, my first thought was that, you know, it was just some creep who doesn't deserve a wand that thought it'd be funny, but…it isn't like it tried to kill Mona, is it? That is…why _me_? What did _I_ do? And why not when I first put it on? I don't know, what do you think?"

Aurora turned to him half-hoping he'd stop with the whole evil goblin thing and start being reasonably human now that she'd told him what he wanted to know, but such was not the case. Really, what had she expected? Snape being _human?_ Please.

Except for that _look_…but they weren't going to speak of that. Ever.

"I presume you didn't think to ask for a description of this…woman?" he sneered, and she'd never wanted to stab someone with the business end of her fork more in her entire life.

"Well, I was a tad preoccupied! Although I'm sure _you've_ had your fair share of murder attempts, it's not exactly an every-day occurrence for me! Besides, why would some woman in Knockturn Alley who sells scarves want me dead? I don't even _go_ there! I mean, it's not like I have a life or anything—you said so yourself. The only two people who've ever wanted me dead are right here—me and you. And possibly my family, on occasion. But I haven't _known_ anyone else long enough for them to want me dead! It doesn't make _sense!_"

He was oddly silent. Not the ignoring her kind, or the angry kind, or even the pondering something kind…just _silent_. Though it should've been a relief, it was just eerie. And also very suspicious.

"So…I guess you haven't got anything to say to that?" When he still said nothing, she huffed. "Severus, _what?_"

Glancing at her sidelong, he shook his head a fraction. "There have not, in the past three weeks, been any cases of death by strangulation through magical means in this area, according to the Ministry. As such, I have taken the liberty of contacting the partnership of wizards in ownership of the Alley, yet they, _most_ predictably, refuse to answer the inquiry as to whether there was indeed a vendor of scarves solely based on the pretense that we do not have a specific or working description."

It was probably the most he'd said to her without insulting her in both of their entire lives. In fact, it was probably the most he'd said to her, ever. Period.

Though this might have been a cause for celebration (or extreme panic), Aurora was still working on what he'd said and had not the time for such things. Truthfully, he was seriously starting to scare her.

"So, wait…you think I'm the only person this happened to, that my scarf was the only one that…y'know…and that it wasn't just one of the many absurd things that tend to happen to me? Like, that it was _on purpose?_ Because that just sounds _beyond_ paranoid. I told you, there's no reason anyone else wants me dead—no one else knows me. I'm not like you, or that poor Potter kid, or Dumbledore, or…well, you get the point. I've never killed anyone in my life. I've never really done much of _anything_ in my life, actually—not like you people."

_Really_, why was he making such a big deal out of this? He'd gone as far as contacting the owners of the Alley, which was somewhat flattering but really very unprecedented. Clearly, she must've been the only one thinking straight, and his years as a Death Eater had messed him up a whole lot more than she would've thought.

"I do not doubt your magnificent lack of importance in the world, yet in the way of murder, what is of importance is not always the…_eminence_ or standing of the esteemed target."

For the sake of figuring out what the hell was going on, she was going to pretend that that was _not_ an insult. "Right. So, um…what _is_ of importance, exactly?"

He sighed, unimpressed. "You may be, as it seems, a means to an end."

As unhelpfully vague as it was, she couldn't quite master a giggle. "A means to _what_ end, Severus? The only thing even marginally important about me is that I'm a professor at Hogwarts! What, do they want my job, or something? Because I've got a million and one reasons why they _don't_, actually, and if this is about Dumbledore then they can just shove off, because there are a lot easier ways than killing a person. Like sending him a box of Fizzing Whizbees, for example. He'll be your best friend."

Still, Snape looked unconvinced. Which wasn't surprising in the least.

"Professor Sinistra, I regret to inform you that the world is not as simple-minded as yourself."

She tried to swallow her resulting shock of resentment—she really did—but, as it turned out, there was _no_ way he was getting off easy for that one.

"Well, I'm sorry to inform _you_ that the world isn't exactly a bunch of murderous followers of You-Know-_freaking_-Who, either. Relax, would you? You're mental."

Apparently, that hit a nerve.

He shot up out of his seat (not all the way, exactly, on account of there being a table in the way, but enough to look intimidating), his plate clattering and drawing a lot of unneeded attention, looking royally offended and starting—by instinct, she imagined, because he couldn't _possibly_ be crazy enough to try anything _here_, in front of all these people—to reach for his wand. It was actually largely impressive, the amount of menacing-and-creepy he was pulling off: it was practically rolling off of him in waves, and she was pretty sure she saw a couple of first-years in the back swoon with fear.

Although in retrospect it may not have been the best idea (not that there were any _good_ ideas where Snape was concerned), she responded in kind, without much forethought she had to admit, by reaching out a hand to grab onto his wrist. In truth, she had no idea what she was thinking. Honestly, what did she expect? It wasn't even the right wrist, for Merlin's sake. Not the one reaching for his wand, anyway.

For some strange and unidentified reason, though, it worked. She couldn't have said that it had the desired effect—because she truthfully had no real idea _what_ she desired—but it _did_ have an effect, and that in itself was more than she could've hoped for.

At first, she had his arm in more of a death-grip than anything else, hanging onto him just in case he finally lost it and exploded in front of the whole school, staff and students alike. She felt him freeze when she did it, and there was this awful moment of suspense where she had no idea what direction he was going to go and could sense every pair of eyes in the entire Hall boring straight through them.

Then, much to the relief of the frazzled Astronomy professor (as well as hundreds of anxious students), she felt his muscles lose their tension under her grasp and saw the resolve drain out of him as he collapsed back into his seat, looking more tired than she'd ever seen him for as long as they'd known each other.

Which was a reasonably long time—long enough, he'd probably say.

"Er—look," she said, feeling oddly sympathetic. "Let's just assume you're right about the whole this not being one of the various accidents that I'm prone to being a part of thing. So then, why not take this to Dumbledore? And how do you know mine was the only scarf that was cursed? I mean, what if they were all cursed, and the lady who sold them sold only one of them before she had a change of heart? Or perhaps she didn't know they were cursed until after she sold one, at which point she stopped. Or _maybe_ she did know, and she _did_ sell more than one, but nobody died and one of the almost-murdered people went and ratted her out before anyone could really get killed?"

The look he shot her told her what she already knew: that she was just grasping at straws.

"Okay, so…why do you think the owners are so…_unhelpful?_ Do you think if I asked Mona for a description and we gave it they'd help us then? …you don't think they're in on it, do you?"

It was then that he chose to remove his arm from her somewhat lessened clasp, drawing her attention to the fact that she'd still been holding onto his wrist. Why was that?

Well, that was awkward. Or, as awkward as it could be when he was using his knife as an excuse to have moved. Incidentally, he must've wanted pretty badly to pretend it hadn't happened (or he was struggling not to choke with pure revulsion and needed something to distract himself…she couldn't blame him) and in light of this wish she resolved not to mention it.

Not that she _wanted_ to mention it, or anything. It wasn't like she'd done it on purpose, Merlin forbid. Because that would be insane.

Right.

Insane.

She'd be absolutely out of her mind, if she ever wanted to prolong any skin-on-skin contact with a man that…unhygienic. It was disturbing.

Definitely _not_ something she wanted to think about.

Except, okay, maybe she'd fantasized about slapping him a couple of times, but that was different. And it wasn't like she obsessed over it.

Yes, well. Moving on.

Despite the fact that it was the farthest thing imaginable from subtle, at least it got him to eat something. It was just as well. Merlin knew the man needed to eat _something_ before he blew away.

"Although it is, in fact, possible, I highly doubt the involvement of such _foolish_ circumstance. Rather, I believe the ownership of Knockturn Alley desires only to...shall we say, keep appearances."

It was her turn to look skeptical. "Er…this is _Knockturn Alley_ we're talking about. They can't _seriously_ be worried about their reputation, right? It's a bit late for that, wouldn't you say?"

"On the contrary, it seems not," he spat. "Do you have any further questions, Professor?"

"Sev, I was almost killed. If this is some grandiose, elaborate plot for Merlin knows what like you apparently believe it is, I think I have the right to ask questions."

He stopped. Swallowed.

For a second, she had to wonder what on earth she'd said wrong. It was no secret she was liable to insult him at every turn, or that he was likely to take insult to most of what she said, but she had _thought_ she'd been doing good.

"Aurora," he said, and the use of her given name startled her. "Since you are obviously incapable of comprehending the gravity of your situation, let me explain it to you in simpler terms. There are, in this world, a multitude of cheap sqwib-worthy charms that may indeed be removed by any wizard worth his wand. For most magic above an intermediate level, however, a countercurse is required in order to effectively remove a spell. This is true for _all_ witches and wizards. You may find that there are some curses that may be erased through means of a simple blanket-countercurse: the…soap and water of magic, if you will. Let me make explicitly clear that for higher-level curses, this is _not_ the case. A _good_ curse provides that a wizard wishing to remove it must first discern and _understand_ it before he may seek to remove it.

For your _better_ comprehension, I will give you the analogy of knots. The simplest knot may be undone by any who happens to pull on it. A more complex knot may require a pair of scissors, yet you need not know _where_ to cut. The most intricate of knots requires thought, concentration, _practice._ One cannot expect to immediately…_unhinge_ them. _Do_ you follow?"

She was pretty sure her eyes had glazed over. "Y'know, you're a real showoff."

"Do you _follow?_" he reiterated, harsher than necessary.

"Yes, yes, geez, I follow. I took all the same classes as you did back in school, you know. For the most part. I can see where you're going, but mind telling me why this matters?"

Undaunted, he only continued. "As it happens, I am particularly skilled in that area of expertise."

"Oh, really? I had _no_ idea. It couldn't be because you're a complete geek for the Dark Arts, could it?"

His knife made that sort of highly unpleasant screeching noise against his plate that meant he was pressing down with rather more force than was entirely necessary, and she had to wince. When she cut him a look, though, she was taken aback by the fact that his expression was devoid of what she thought might've been anger. Actually, it was gravely serious, which was more than a little unsettling in her opinion.

"I-er…"

He stopped her. "Aurora, the curse that was so…_generously_ bestowed upon your scarf was _not_ a common variation. The wizard behind it was _clearly_ skilled, _clearly_ gave thought to the matter, and would _not_ have repeated such a tedious endeavor on more than one item. Had I not possessed what aptitude I have for such matters, I relay to you in full trust that You. Would. Have. Died."

It was all she could do to gape at him, food or no, and she was without a doubt that, had she not been sitting, she would have been on the floor at this point. This time, when she reached over and shot out a hand to dig her nails into his wrist, it was so she didn't fall out of her chair.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa…_what?_ Why didn't you tell me this before, Sev? Wait, no. Don't answer that. Frankly, I don't care. But…why didn't the thing try to choke me when I put it on? Why did it wait?"

If the way his brow travelled downwards and his scowl deepened (an almost impossible feat, considering) was anything to judge by, she wasn't so sure she _wanted_ to know the answer anymore. It was so much simpler when her biggest problem was Sprout's unhealthy obsession with her love-life.

What made it worse was that Snape didn't even _try_ to take his arm back. He just…_let_ her hold onto him. Merlin, it was _that bad._

"The incriminating detail is, interestingly, a thing that would be hardly noticeable," he answered, and his words were dark and delicate. "You were obviously unaware, but the curse only became awakened once you had…touched me."


	8. Scorpio: Knock, Knock

Why hello there. Don't worry: if this reminds you of Lamentations, it's a good thing. Remember what I said about throwbacks? Well, this whole story is a tribute of sorts. Kudos to those who catch all these silly references, and all that. Since this one's big, though, I'd say kudos to those who don't. Why? ...well, because if you don't then you probably haven't read Lamentations in the first place, which means you're crazy enough (or awesome enough?) to go ahead and read this old thing beforehand. And if you're wondering why I'm giving kudos to those who would blatantly not follow my instructions (since I told you guys to go read Lamentations first off)...then, well, truth is I don't know! A huge, giant, Hagrid-sized thanks to those who've stuck with it this far. Much love to you from me-this is all for you. Yep. Every word. It's all yours.

* * *

><p>Scorpio: Knock, Knock<p>

That was it. No more nonsense. No more arguing about insane murder plots, no more frolicking through the hallways past midnight, no more wearing clothing she didn't pick out herself, and _definitely_ no more putting up with Snape's goblin-like ways.

Nope. No more.

As of today, that afternoon, 12:07 o' clock on a Saturday, she was going to get to the bottom of whatever in Merlin's name she'd been dragged into.

She was going to demand answers. _Demand_ them. Not sweetly hint at them and expect they might be answered—oh no. This called for insistence. And not just any insistence, mind—_good_ insistence. _Insistent_ insistence.

The kind that delivered answers.

Though not from Snape, of course (because, who was she kidding, the man would talk her in circles for hours and still tell her _nothing_), but from a better, more trustworthy source. Namely, a source that was a lot more…two-dimensional.

And willing.

And friendly.

And human. Which was pretty bad on Snape's end, because if a work of art was certifiably more human than a certifiable human then it was sad. Which made Snape officially very sad.

Where was she, again?

Right. Yes. Answers.

Nigel had answers.

As a matter of fact, she was beginning to like him—or at least she didn't mind him as much. Once she was able to get past the fact that he kind of wanted to take over the world, and that he snored incessantly at night, he really wasn't all that bad.

He did make a very nice decoration, to tell the truth, when he was standing still. He had a nice structure. Not quite the Gilderoy Lockhart, but…pretty. _Er_. Than a wall. Or Snape.

And he had a lovely frame. And he had answers.

…and he was gone.

Gone.

Aurora stood before his empty frame, disbelieving.

Nigel was _gone._

Why was Nigel gone? Why _just then?_ _Just_ when she needed for him to be _here_…?

Of all the nerve…how could he just walk off on her like that? He hadn't even left a note, for Merlin's sake. It was _rude!_ How _dare_ he go off and…fraternize with other pictures?

What _did_ pictures do in their spare time? It wasn't like they could eat food or anything—it'd probably taste like paint, right? …it must've been an outstandingly boring existence, hanging on a wall day in, day out just…watching the same little patch of world through a tiny window. In fact, it was probably miserable.

And the worst part was that they couldn't even kill themselves: they weren't _living_.

_God_, she was never letting _anyone_ paint a picture of her. Not _ever_.

Well, since her resident work of art was off…doing whatever he did…then there was only one course of action left. And it was going to require the use of extreme caution.

Suffice it to say that if ever there was a job for an invisibility cloak, this would've been it. Useful things—she'd always been meaning to invest in one. Seeing as it'd cost her all of her salary over the last six years and then some, she didn't really see that happening, though.

She might've risked asking for a potion of invisibility…except that would defeat the purpose.

Therefore, she'd just have to do this on her own. It wasn't as if it bothered her—the "on her own"part. Rather, it was indulgently exciting—that's what she told herself, anyway.

So what if she was a little on the ungainly side? It wasn't like she'd be walking a tightrope, Merlin forbid.

No, she could do this. All she had to do was just…walk into a room. Just walk in. That's right. Just walking. No balancing acts required. She could totally manage this.

Halfway down the stairs to the Astronomy Tower, however, and her stomach was starting to lurch. Which was dreadfully annoying, because, _Merlin_, she wasn't even to the dungeons yet.

When she actually _was_ in the dungeons (and having a distinct reaction to her surroundings that bordered on undeniable pity for the poor children forced to endure living in such conditions) it became markedly worse. Whereas it was probably just a combination of the scum of the atmosphere, with all that dust and the like floating about, and her rising panic that made her sinuses start to act out, Aurora wasn't too keen on pondering the other possibilities.

Being able to _feel_ herself shaking was a bad thing, right?

Just walk. That's all she had to do. Just walk in, look around, maybe—

…dear God, was that the Bloody Baron? Since when did he start hoisting a sword around? And was he always so…bloody?

No. She couldn't let herself get so easily distracted. She had to stay focused. That was key.

Speaking of keys…

"Password," hissed the tiny painting before her, a bit brutally.

By then, she'd had just about enough of paintings. Not to mention she was ready to kick herself for clearly having not thought her plan through well enough.

Who forgot a stupid thing like a password, anyway?

"Look here," appealed Aurora in her best attempt at sounding vaguely professional. "I'm a professor, and I need a way in there. I don't have time for whatever this is."

The painting (a very ugly painting, if she didn't say so herself) only raised his eyebrows, looking faintly bored. "Password."

Well, that was just marvelously irritating. Especially because the thing hadn't even felt the need to go the length of making it a question like any other, decent sentient artifact.

"I don't _know_ the bloody password," she pleaded. "That's what I'm telling you. I'm a professor, and this is urgent, so let me through. Please?"

It didn't even look mildly phased, or even interested. "Password."

Great. So it only knew one word. Just _fantastic_. She suspected that it had been around for so long that it had eventually run out of any former fascination with the world and had thusly limited itself to two brain cells. The paint _was_ peeling a bit.

Well, she could deal with that. Aurora Sinistra was not one to be daunted by shabby paintings containing roughly two brain cells. No, she could definitely handle this. …most likely.

Sniffing moodily, the Astronomy professor stamped across the hall to wait out what she liked to call Plan B. Unfortunately, this involved standing by herself and making a job out of it, as in _of course I'm supposed to be here, I'm not up to anything at all, what's it to you?_

According to her lack of ability to sit pretty and look busy and inconspicuous, this plan was not quite as successful as she might have hoped. It seemed today was _not_ her day, judging by the fact that in the amount of time it took for a reasonably good-sized pack of Slytherins to appear, she saw the statue nearest her begin to nod off.

Which was, needless to say, incredibly weird. Because, honestly, she couldn't remember the last time she'd seen one of those things move. In fact, she was pretty sure they blinked maybe once every six months.

It didn't speak well for how long she'd been standing at the end of the hall in wait, anyway, and her feet had begun to ache as she approached the group of future felonies waiting to happen.

She didn't have to wait much longer for her scheme (which was probably insane to begin with) to map out before her, though, and that was a relief.

When the first boy stooped to the painting and proclaimed "Aconite!" very loudly, with gusto, she half-expected it to be in Parseltongue. Her first thought afterwards was that the boy, despite his impressive height, simply _had_ to be a first year; there was no other explanation for his unnecessary and highly convenient display of bravado other than a newfound sense of self-importance in being able to remember a particular password.

And it was probably _all_ he could remember, judging by the fact that she'd _just_ seen the kid slide Slytherin-esque out of his dormitory not three minutes ago.

Her second thought, on the other hand, was more of a feeling. Namely, haughty amusement. Because, of course. _Of course_ he'd choose one of the most deadly potions for his password.

The man was _obsessed._ Not as obsessed as he might be with the Dark Arts, or even Harry Potter for that matter, but still reasonably preoccupied to an unhealthy extent. It might've actually been funny, had it not been so creepy. She wasn't even sure it could be called a passion, as for most people—she wasn't even sure Snape _had_ passions.

Plan B, for as long as it took to play out, worked splendidly. Aurora breezed past the (very ugly) painting right on the heel of the now-obnoxious party of first years (they were holding a conversation on the mating practices of mermaids, of all things) without even a hint of trouble.

And it didn't take Arithmancy to figure out that the large, heavy-looking doors with big brass knobs at the end of the commons—the _very_ end, farthest away from any and all human contact—belonged to the room of everyone's favorite Potions professor.

The closer she approached, the more chilling the atmosphere, as if her breath were being sucked out of her just by looking at the entrance. Though she'd never verifiably faced a real-life dementor, she imagined that this was what it would be like.

Cold and uninviting. She almost turned around.

Until she remembered that she was Aurora Sinistra, Astronomy professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and professional Snape-antagonizer. No way was she going to be intimidated by some elementary charm meant to scare off school-children. Not possible.

Therefore, she took a steady breath and plunged on, marching straight up to the doors and…

And they were locked.

Well, why wouldn't they be? Why was that so surprising?

Oh, how she wanted to smash her forehead against the wooden paneling. Actually, wood might not have been hard enough to get across how monumentally stupid she was. Perhaps the floor…

But wait.

Maybe, just _maybe_, if it was ridiculous and incomprehensible enough to work on _her_…she crossed her fingers.

"Alohomora."

The weight of her wand shifted somewhat.

…and, _dear Merlin and holy stars above,_ the lock clicked smoothly out of place.

It actually _worked_. _Merlin's beard,_ it worked!

She almost couldn't believe it. Not as she pushed past the doors, not as she stood squarely in the center of his rug, not as she skimmed his walls and breathed his air.

_His_ air. _That smelled like him._

But no. Before anything else, she had to revel in the fact that she had just victoriously outwitted _Snape_—at his own game. The _smarter-than-you, master of Dark Arts, trusted advisor of the Dark Lord and Dumbledore_…and she'd just successfully invaded his privacy using _Alohomora_.

Behold, her genius.

It was preposterous. Unthinkable. Bogus. …also slightly evil and more or less amazing.

Now, to tread the murky waters of payback and investigation, with a healthy side of snooping. Where to begin…

It was a lot like standing in the middle of a candyshop with a set of five shiny new knuts hot in her hands, unable to pick a starting place. For about half a second, she contemplated picking through his post just to make a point.

But she needed answers, and just setting foot in his sacred chambers was probably revenge enough.

The man was _clearly_ more informed than she was about whatever was transpiring, and there _had_ to be something, because it wasn't every day Snape looked through her mail, or interrogated her painting, or accused poor scarf vendors of murder.

There was _definitely_ something going on. …she just had to find out what that was.

Which was actually extremely difficult, now that she was here. Truth be told, she hadn't even thought this far ahead—she hadn't exactly expected to get this far.

It wasn't at all what she'd envisioned his room to look like: there was even a fire in the fireplace, which was nice. It was all just very…nice.

No dead bodies, or things fermenting in jars, or strange torture contraptions. …just a room.

_Merlin_, it was distracting. She'd probably have been better off concentration-wise if he _did_ have creep-tastic possessions of unknown origins.

And it wasn't like she was going to just happen upon a very quaint little box labeled "ANSWERS," either. Really, she had nothing to go on.

Honestly, she had to remind herself why, again, this was a good idea.

Perhaps she was just riding a bout of paranoia. What evidence did she have, at the end of the day?

So he'd asked Nigel a few questions. But hadn't Nigel contacted him first? True, it was suspicious…but so was Mrs. Norris, and she was pretty sure that nothing would ever come of a feline that just so happened to strongly resemble a demon besides just the alarming sensation she got when she passed it in the halls.

So he'd convinced himself (and, she had to admit, herself too) that someone had tried to kill her. It might've been over-the-top, but out of the ordinary? She _had_ nearly died, according to him.

The only thing she couldn't for the life of her figure out was why in God's name he'd ogled all of her post. Not that there was a lot of it to ogle, precisely—but that was also part of why it was so insulting.

Snape wasn't _allowed_ to know the full extent of how pathetic she was.

But truly, where did he get off doing things like that? It just didn't make _sense_.

And, loath as she was to own up to it, Snape was actually a pretty logical guy, as far as practicality went. Not to say he wasn't the most ghastly and distasteful person on the planet—because he _totally_ was—but…he was no Bellatrix Lestrange.

Although possibly not far from it, in her opinion. At least he had the whole evil worshipper of You-Know-Who down right.

In actuality, _she_ was probably the crazy one between the two of them.

Okay, not _probably_. She was.

She was completely, undeniably insane beyond all reason.

Why else would she break into the personal chambers of one of the most hated people in the entire school only to stand uselessly and shamefully in the center of his floor, gaping.

Did she say she had a _plan_?

Because, whatever this was, this wasn't it.

There were a bunch of stacked-up papers on a table against the wall, so that was her best bet a getting anywhere close to productive. Therefore, she made a bee-line for them, attempting to be cautious and not quite succeeding as she bumped her hip into the corner of the table and yelped.

Stupid table.

The papers, much to her disappointment, were just a series of graded and ungraded tests. Mostly failing grades, she imagined. Pansy Parkinson probably had cute little hearts drawn all over hers—had probably written _marry me_ somewhere at the bottom.

Under his massive pile of disappointing tests—with Snape, there was no _pass_…there was only _good_ failing, _bad_ failing, and _worse_ failing—there was, incredibly, a thing she would call a treasure. In fact, it was so spectacular she'd probably offer to take it off his hands (seeing as he quite obviously wasn't using it and all) if she wasn't trying to be somewhat subversive.

Only Merlin knew why he had the thing, but she could officially say she was mermerized. It was this rounded calendar, vaguely oblong, that gave a panoramic view of the stars—indicating the _above_ and _below_ the horizon with a scripted time and date. As she watched, the time vanished into the next at the passage of a minute, and the stars winked up at her as they moved slowly across in a circular pattern.

She'd seen these in stores before—they were wickedly expensive.

…what the hell?

When did Severus Snape start becoming…well, impressive? Since when was she jealous?

There was absolutely no reason at all to be envious of Snape. None. None whatsoever. Not in a million years.

She was _not _jealous of Snape, Snape was _not_ suddenly more tolerable, and she was certainly _not_ enamored with his calendar. Or him.

…or the fact that the bound novel at the side of the bed read _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ along the spine. Or that, when she looked, there were several more of Shakespeare's works collected neatly on a shelf in the corner, along with a flowering plant that turned an interesting shade of purple when she came closer.

It was all so…surreal. Like maybe this was a dream, and when she woke up and finally came down to the _real_ Snape's room there would be just what she expected—dust and disuse and icky things.

None of what she had found insofar was, by her judgement, "icky." That, more than anything, was worthy of a wave of surging terror.

Because…no. This was all wrong. It wasn't _real_. There had to be some sort of mistake.

Severus Snape did not possess pleasurable or pleasing qualities. Severus Snape did not associate with things that held pleasurable or pleasing qualities. Severus Snape did not incite in her a deep desire to grab him by the collar and…yes, well. Severus Snape was a goblin.

A mean, evil, nasty goblin. That was all there was to it. No more.

Breathing properly was becoming something of a chore.

Although that could quite plausibly be due to the fact that she had just recently been tackled from behind and thrown unceremoniously onto her back on the (rather stiff…really, how did he sleep on the thing?) bed, a stern hand digging into her shoulder and a wand hovering centimeters from the tip of her nose. Quite understandably, she'd shrieked about three times consecutively.

"The name of the boy you sat diagonally across from in Potions of our fourth year," her assailant breathed violently into her face, jabbing his wand closer. "What was it?"

"S-Severus, how—" _in Merlin's name did he expect her to remember a thing like that?_

"Answer the question, if you don't mind."

_Merlin_, he was close. As in, she could feel the elevated thudding of his heart in his chest as compared to her own, which was trying fervently to knock itself out of hers and right into his. She also had a nice, up-close view of The Sneer, and she was pretty sure that his hip was actually crushing her thigh.

Though it probably wasn't the best idea in hindsight, she squirmed.

"Why the hell would I remember that?" she more or less squeaked, feeling his grip tighten painfully. "What, do you think I'm some…some…Death Eater, or something?"

The look she received told her all that she needed to know.

"Okay, okay…fourth year Potions…this is completely ridiculous, I'll have you know, and I don't appreciate—hang on, I didn't even take Potions in my fourth year, you cheeky blighter! That was _you!_"

For an interval of around three seconds, neither moved. She could still feel his heart bumping against hers in the tiny pauses when hers was still, and it was irrevocably unsettling to say the least. As a matter of fact, it was unsettling just to make the discovery that Snape did, testifiably, physically have a heart.

It wasn't _too_ far-fetched to believe he walked around without one, right? Who knew; magic was producing more and more miracles each day.

…except, Snape was by no means a miracle. Strange mixture of creepy and frustrating, yes, but miracle? Not a chance.

At the culmination of those three (very, very lengthy) seconds, she felt his muscles kind of relax over her as he came to the realization that she was truly Aurora Auriga Sinistra, the one and only, in all her insensible and erratic glory. His eyes lost that panic-driven, reflexive glare of murderous intent—a relief, considering she was almost sure the intensity would have broiled her insides into a nice gooey consistency—and the wrist that held his wand to her face slowly lowered itself until it was somewhere beyond her line of vision.

It was around that time that he also (alongside herself) reached the brilliant conclusion that he was still on top of her, and that it was actually a tad weird for her to be in his room.

"Aurora," he deadpanned, looking a lot like he didn't believe himself.

Truthfully, she didn't blame him. The Astronomy professor was in a hint of disbelief herself, but she'd be damned if she'd show it.

"Severus," was her careful reply, cool and even. The uncannily high levels of nonchalance were extremely worthy of the Aurora Sinistra Victory Dance.

Silently, of course, and in her head.

To re-examine her proximity, she was so close she could literally both see and feel his jaw set as he gritted his teeth.

"Aurora," he repeated, as if starting over. "Would you care to explain to me what it is you so urgently require so as to go such lengths as breaking and entering?"

Because neither "no, I'm fine, thanks," nor "oh, nothing much, really" deserved much merit, she decided to stick with the simplest method: redirection. I.e. shoving it back in his face.

"I dunno, care to tell me why you're pinning me to your bed with your wand out? …er."

Okay, so maybe she should've picked a different option. Preferably one that didn't involve blush-worthy innuendo.

Snape, to his credit, only blinked. Granted, he shot up off of her with one of his most sinister sneers yet, but she was far too concerned with being relieved over the fact that he was no longer crushing her insides than to care what sort of hateful glower she was receiving.

"Look," she said on sitting up. He didn't. _Surprise, surprise._

Really, the only surprising thing was that she'd actually half-expected him to listen to her. A prodigally preposterous idea.

"Or, okay, don't look…just, I don't understand."

He didn't even ask _what_. "That remains as expected. I wouldn't trouble yourself if I were you."

Unbelievable. He was just as much of a git behind closed doors, in his own chambers.

…well of course he was. It wasn't like she was in awe of the fact, or anything.

"Right. I forgot it's too much to ask for you to be sensible and agreeable. I do have a question, though."

"I am hardly surprised."

"Merlin, Severus, I don't care if you're bored out of your mind or astounded, I just want you to answer it."

"Undoubtedly."

"Oh, shove off. Only, tell me: just then, what were you going to do? Were you planning on killing me? If I was…you know…would you have used Avada Kedavra?"

"Believe me, it would bring me the highest pleasure to have done so. Your question, however, is quite half-witted. Such as the case may be, I would have brought you to the Headmaster."

"…oh." Somehow, he'd accomplished making her feel undeniably stupid and intriguingly proud all at the same time. "Alright then. …you're very unpleasant, just so you know. You should really work on that. I'm sure you fit in just great at all of You-Know-Who's parties, but just in case you didn't notice, it's a bit different around here."

She just hoped he took that comment (specifically, the word "fit") in the past-tense. Because she didn't particularly know what he'd do if he found out she was familiar with his little secret, and neither did she want to know.

Much to her relief, Snape sighed. It was a pretty impressive sigh, too—she actually almost felt bad for him.

"Long day?" she offered cheerily. He _did_ seem somewhat exhausted, by her standards. It must've been a side-effect of all that Death Eater business—she didn't expect it was all that easy. Not like sitting around sucking on Fizzing Whizbees, anyway.

Ever the nasty goblin, he just shot her a displeased glance that mostly read, in her personal opinion, "get out."

Little did he know, such methods did not work on her. "You look like you could do for a little fresh air. You know, Hogsmeade is actually rather nice this time of year."

Like Snape would ever functionally be able to pick up on a hint like that and respond to it in a nice, _normal_ fashion.

The next glance she was treated to was increasingly threatening. He even added a little sneer for effect.

"Oh, come on. You can't tell me it doesn't at least intrigue you, the idea of…_enjoying_ yourself."

"I assure you, the idea of spending my time listening to your constant babbling, regardless of the setting, is not enjoyable in the slightest."

"Oh, I could say the same of your ever-present need to insult others. Especially me. But I never said anything about me. You could go yourself, you know."

The glance had now transformed into a suggestion: mostly, the accusation that she was out of her mind.

Which, she wasn't disagreeing, but for the time being she thought she was doing pretty well, all things considered.

"Okay, fine," conceded Aurora. "Whatever. Forget the Hogsmeade thing. But…really, when was the last time you actually enjoyed yourself? I mean, _really_ enjoyed yourself—not just took fifty points from Gryffindor for the hell of it. Like, when was the last time you smiled? And not that creepy, sadistic smirk thing you do once I've made a fool of myself—_smiled?_ I bet you can't even remember!"

"It must certainly be incomprehensible to you, the ability to control oneself. Tell me, when was the last time you utilized a sincere sense of self-control? I bet you can't even _remember_, can you?"

Oh, now he was just mocking her.

"Honestly? Right about now." She stood, and his eyes followed her to the door (burning straight through her with the intensity of twin suns all the while). "A little appreciation would be nice. I mean, who else is gonna break into your room and tell you to take a break even as you glare daggers? I'll tell you one thing: _you_ were definitely not part of my job description. And believe me, you take more work than my own job! They should be _paying_ me to put up with you! I should be _loaded!_"

It only proved to emphasize the fact that she was here of her own volition, and that she _did_ put up with him. He'd better be rightfully grateful, by the stars, or she was going to…well, she didn't know what she was going to do, strictly, but rest-assured it would be sufficiently meaningful enough to wipe that blank, _thankless_ scowl off his (very _un_pleasant and goblin-like) face.

Her fingertips were on the doorknob when he said: "There are, ludicrous as it may seem, matters more pressing and significant than either the amount of _enjoyment_ I derive from my existence or your illusory injustices."

…yeah, according to him. And she really wished she knew what those "more pressing and significant" matters were, because it was starting to become more than a little aggravating to be left to sit in the dark all the time.

The process of saying as much, however, was lost on her due to the fact that he hadn't exactly been using his _you are an imbecile and I do not respect your opinion_ voice. To be sure, she didn't think she'd ever heard him use the tone she'd just heard, which was probably the reason for her momentary paralysis.

It was disconcerting.

Not to say everything about Snape wasn't equally as disconcerting, but she liked to think she'd developed some kind of immunity.

_God,_ he wasn't even trying to insult her, though. Not really. He was being…dare she think it…serious with her. And not in a _listen to me or you will perish_ sort of way, either. Or even a _Dumbledore's making me say this_ kind of way.

He was saying something worthwhile, something more revealing than mindless bickering.

There was no way this wasn't one of the weirdest moments of her life.

Additionally supported by the particular occurrence of a knock at the door.

Four, to be precise, each of which earned its own startled jump as she quickly whipped her hand away from the doorknob.

And of course, who should stand behind said door, hand raised in preparation of further knocking, but Pansy Parkinson.

Oh, the humility. The insolence. The raw horror.

…the endless stream of ways to poke fun.

But she had to catch herself at the last moment, biting her lip to curtail a devious smirk at a thought she couldn't resist. Because, really, so much for answers.

Today was obviously not her day. Nor was any other day.

But that didn't mean she couldn't share the drudgery of non-inclusion with a certain Potions Master.

"Go ahead," she offered generously to the (clearly just as startled) girl. "Don't worry about me, I'm gone already. Be seeing you, Severus." A suggestive glance towards his bookshelf, and there was no _way_ he missed it. "Parting is such sweet sorrow."

Brilliant, the look on his face. She'd gladly give her wand to see it again.

It was _that_ good.

She was pretty sure she laughed herself all the way back to the Astronomy Tower.

Pathetic or not, her life was admittedly a lot more interesting with Snape in it. Granted, also more frustrating and miserable and dangerous and all things unpleasurable, but…she had to give it to him—he did sometimes make up for being unbearable by being…entertaining.

Of course, he was evil and demented…

But all in all, even if she was back to square one, she couldn't say she regretted it—not after learning so much. Specifically: Snape owned one of the coolest calendars in history, and he secretly read Shakespeare in his spare time.

Funny, how that worked out. Truly. _Snape._

Snape with _Shakespeare._

It was…absolutely ridiculous, but it was _almost_ like he was after her heart, or something equally impossible.

Because _that_ was just unreal. Just…insane. Inconceivably and incredibly crazy.

…right?


	9. Sagittarius: Picture This

So! I have good news and bad news. And since I can't exactly ask you which you'd like to hear first, I guess that means you don't get a choice. In that case, the bad news would be that summer is almost over. Yes, yes, it's true! And we all know what this means, for those of us fortunate or unfortunate enough to participate in the wonderful world of education: classes. And work. So what does this mean for my lovely story here? ...slower updates. I promise I'll do my best to get these chapters out in a timely manner, though, and we'll see how far that gets us.

...okay, I lied. I don't really have good news. But I really wanted to say I had good news, because what's bad news without good news? So here's the best I can come up with: it is now officially closer to the weekend than to the beginning of the week, today is (according to Google...and Google never lies) the birthday of Pierre de Fermat (which may or may not be good news at all, if you hate Calculus as much as I do...I'm telling you, those differentials are crazy), and, uh...new chapter! Yaaaay!

* * *

><p>Sagittarius: Picture This<p>

Today was the day. As in, the day she had to address the issue of wearing a long, low-cut (fortunately, all thanks to Pomona, beautiful) dress made of some sleek new material in a dark shade of violet…accompanied by the tasks of sporting heels and make-up, neither of which she was good at.

Additionally, the day she would be apparating out towards Albany to meet—Merlin forbid—Sylvester and his soon-to-be wife. …as well as the rest of her family.

Oh, but she hoped he'd told them—the muggles, that was. Otherwise, they'd be dealing with a considerable mess the first time someone sneezed and levitated a handkerchief. It wouldn't be pretty—she could count on it.

In light of all this, it was also the day she found herself huddled in a corner of the teachers' lounge at six in the morning, hiding under a blanket with a copy of _Worldly Wizarding_ and a pot of coffee, still in her pajamas.

For this, she was going to need ample preparation.

Naturally, because she was just this lucky, the door swept open, and who stormed through it to impede upon her intensive preparation but one Severus Snape, with Umbridge hot on his heels.

If there was one person in the entire universe who was worse than Snape, it was Dolores Umbridge.

_God_, she hated that woman.

What with their perfect timing and all, they hardly noticed her, poor Aurora, sitting in the corner.

"—don't have the faintest idea what you might be blathering on about," Snape was saying, "but I can inform you in full confidence that I am not—"

"I hope you aren't taking a tone with me, Severus," stated the woman sweetly, as if she was talking to a student. "Is that a tone I detect, perhaps? Because, as you know, the Ministry will not tolerate such discourtesy, especially from a man of such…_disreputable_ a past. It's much better to keep this purely a civil matter, wouldn't you agree?"

And disreputable a present, too, but since the so-called Ministry was so adamant in refusing to believe _blatant facts_…well.

Basically, all of this meant one thing: a threat. I.e. _I have dirt on you, and if I so desire I am not afraid to pull a few strings to prove you unfit for the education of young minds._

Or something like that.

Did she mention she hated that woman? Because that was just _low_. It was just…uncalled for. No one was allowed to threaten Snape like that except _her_—and even _she_ wouldn't have gone _that_ far.

"Yes," droned the Potions Master, clearly not enjoying this.

Ah, and the most entertaining morsel: they were both in their pajamas, too. Black and pink—it didn't take much guesswork to figure out which was which.

The contrast was comical, really.

"Good," Umbridge chirped in that strained, maniac way of hers. "Now, Severus, I feel I am fully justified in asking such a simple question. It _is_ a simple question, don't you think? Are you or are you not mediating certain _meetings_ between yourself and a Mister Harry Potter?"

"Detentions, Madam, are a common practice…especially common with boys as stubborn and thick-headed as your Mr. Potter."

"Oh, well, I'm sorry, Professor. It's simply… Well, it seems to me that there should be a few…extenuating circumstances…in place, hm? I do apologize if I'm wrong, as I might be, but…it _seems_ to me that _poor_ Mister Potter cannot possibly have detention every week on Tuesdays and Thursdays. That would just be…preposterous, don't you think so?"

"It is highly likely that Potter receives numerous detentions each day of the week regardless of my own disciplines. I cannot account for his every action."

"Yes, of course, but you _do_ agree that he receives numerous hours of this discipline from you alone? You wouldn't be trying to…_teach_ him anything, would you?"

From behind her quilt, Aurora wondered.

"Madam, the act of merely attempting to teach anything to the boy proves extraordinarily unsuccessful on a daily basis. I would not recommend the task even after hours."

Umbridge made a noise of disapproval, and Aurora couldn't deny that it was rather laughable how she had to strain her neck to stare up at him.

Unfortunately, now that several moments had passed, there was no passable way for the Astronomy professor to successfully appear as if she had not been eavesdropping. It just so happened that announcing one's presence in the heat of a debate was not the wisest course of action, and this left her at a loss as to how she was supposed to proceed.

The pair continued on much in the same way they had been, oblivious, but it was only a matter of time.

This ensured Aurora had only one viable option, and so she did the only thing she could do, given the circumstance: pretend to be asleep.

What with the amount of time it took them to realize they weren't alone, she almost regretted it for how her neck was starting to ache. And what a wonderful opportunity for her hair to make this as inconvenient as possible: it slid into her face at an angle, unyielding and irritating and itching. It took all the self-restraint she had and then some not to reach up and scratch her nose.

By the time she heard the door close and a set of footsteps approaching her, it was getting to be unbearable. Who knew such a tiny little itch could be so maddening?

A presence loomed over her somewhere to her left, and she found herself stuck. Not exactly sure what to expect, she felt suspense fold itself into her gut. Which one of them was it?

Without looking, she hadn't the slightest idea. If it was Snape, he'd probably take the chance to scoff at her ridiculous behavior (though he should really be thanking her for saving him from the monstrosity known as Dolores Umbridge). If it was Umbridge…well, she didn't quite know what would await, but it could be one of two things: an excuse for involving the unnecessary referencing of the Ministry of Magic, or a threateningly innocent throat-clearing.

What Aurora _didn't_ expect were the two delicate fingertips that swooped down to eradicate the bothersome curtain of hair, tucking it safely behind her ear. …delicately.

She flinched. Because seriously…what the hell?

To cover up this reaction, she then opened her eyes and promptly jumped up, wacking Snape in the chest with her copy of _Worldy Wizarding_ in a convincing display of her usual ineptitude. She wasn't prepared, however, for the way he was staring down at her.

He was quick to recover himself, transforming his expression into a perfect scowl so quickly that she might have never noticed anything amiss if she hadn't recognized the look. The _look_.

By then, she was fairly certain she had reached her monthly quota of encounters with Snape's humanity. Heck, her yearly quota, too. The frequent reminders went over and beyond unsettling.

"What gives?" she sputtered, heart racing as she gripped her magazine like a Quidditch club.

"You are aware, are you not, that you are currently in what you may call the teachers' lounge?"

Squaring her shoulders, she nodded defiantly. "Yeah, what of it?"

"You are aware that this is not a bedroom?"

"Oh, bugger off. It you have that much of a problem with it, go talk to Dumbledore. I'm sure it's top-priority on his list of problems in the world—right up there with how You-Know-Who keeps trying to off his favorite student."

As she said it, she wished vehemently that she could just take it back—go back to the way she used to obliviously consider him a Hogwarts enigma and leave it at that, to when she could chat meaninglessly and he would pretend not to listen…back before she realized the extent of his almost-similarity to her or the way he had honest-to-God _feelings_.

Five seconds later found her slouching over the coffee pot and offering him a cup which he, as was expected, refused.

It was around that time that the door opened again and McGonnagal trickled in, fully dressed and looking over the room's occupants like she was thinking of turning around and going back out. Behind her came Trelawney, and behind her came Grubbly-Plank.

"Crowded, isn't it?" Aurora muttered aside to Snape, shoving a cup of coffee at his chest anyway.

So maybe coming to the teachers' lounge for a spot of peace and quiet wasn't such a great idea after all.

Snape grunted in answer, taking the cup wordlessly, and that, she decided, was her cue to depart. Patting him on the shoulder as she passed, she made her way hastily for the exit.

"Try not to eat too many defenseless first-years today—wouldn't want to spoil your dinner."

It was as much of a goodbye as he was going to get, seeing as she likely wasn't going to be seeing him for the next couple of days. Directly after breakfast, she would be leaving for Albany…and for the ordeal of a lifetime.

Except, curiously enough, Snape wasn't _at_ breakfast. He was nowhere to be found, his usual place at the end of the table looking rather empty. Aurora caught herself, more than once, serving a quick glance towards the entrance…as if expecting him to come flapping in at any second.

"Perhaps he's gotten ill," suggested Pomona good-naturedly. "I heard there was a nasty case of Scrofungulus going around. Although, if you ask me, I'd peg the Weasleys as the culprits. Can't blame them, really, for wanting to feed him a puking pastille."

No, she couldn't. …but neither could she imagine him bent over a bucket somewhere in the castle and puking his brains out. Strictly speaking, it wasn't what people did directly after waltzing into teachers' lounges and disturbing the peace and quiet.

"…or maybe Peeves got to him," Sprout continued to hypothesize. "You never know, with him. He could be hanging upside-down from the rafters right now with bits of chewing gum stuck to him all over."

At that, Aurora couldn't help but giggle a bit. Realistically, though, she knew it was preposterous.

"No, Peeves usually listens to Snape these days. He's a pretty intimidating person, even to the dead."

"Well, then it's possible he just doesn't feel like coming to breakfast, dear. He could be too busy…"

"What, busy clipping nose hairs? It's nine in the morning, Mona, and he can't possibly have eaten any students yet because they're all in here!"

"Dear me, does it really matter? I'm sure it's nothing, dear."

"He ought to be here…he's never skipped breakfast _before_."

"My, suffering separation anxiety already, are we?"

"No!" she rounded on her friend. "No, nothing like that. You know it's not like that. Just…"

"Just…?"

_Just_…that she could think of only one good reason for him to be gone, and it had a whole lot to do with that thing on his arm.

If she thought about it, it was actually very inconsiderate of the Dark Lord…not even letting his minions eat a decent breakfast before he summoned them up. Though, generally, he wasn't known for his hospitality and consideration to begin with…such things could quite possibly get in the way of all his evil plans.

"Just, it's weird," Aurora finished lamely. "That's all."

Sprout looked very much unconvinced, but neither did she press the matter. For that, the Astronomy Professor was eternally grateful.

When she finally strode—or rather, waddled…because she was stilted about three inches taller than normal via heels—out of the front entrance to the castle and down the path towards Hogsmeade, her breakfast was still weighted in her stomach. Fortunately, Aurora had weaseled Sprout into doing that thing with her hair…that thing that made it look at least halfway presentable.

As she'd left, the herbologist had declared her, through a crushing hug, as "simply gorgeous." Funny, but she couldn't quite find it in herself to agree.

Funnier: none of the students she passed on her way through seemed even the slightest bit interested, either in the fact that she was "gorgeous" or the fact that she looked like an upside-down fireseed bush. It was singularly odd. That is, she'd expect at least _one_ person to ogle at her preposterousness.

Not even one curious glance…not even a little one.

Had the world gone mad? Did they not notice the utter ridicule available in her present appearance?

Apparently not, because not a one paid her any mind…in fact, they were all so busy looking behind themselves and not at where they were going that she was honestly surprised that none of them tripped.

But what were they looking at that could possibly be more note-worthy than her either beauty or atrocity?

Squinting, Aurora strained to see a man, tall and stark against the white ground, posted somewhere just past Honeydukes. He looked a lot like he was waiting for something, and for a whole minute of squinting and struggling the witch couldn't for the life of her figure out what was so interesting, so riveting and head-turning, about a man standing in the middle of the road.

Yes, it was weird, and yes, it wasn't a very smart idea on account of the fact that he was liable to get run over, but…in the life of Aurora Sinistra, weirder things had happened. In the wizarding world, a mysterious man in the center of the road was the farthest thing from strange imaginable.

…but that was before she realized _who_, exactly, was standing in the center of the road.

And not only was he in the center of the road: he was wearing a set of sharp-looking dress robes, wearing the shiniest pair of shoes she'd ever seen, and…dear God…he'd taken a shower. He'd _bathed_. He'd washed his face. He'd washed his _hair_. He'd even combed it.

If the world had gone mad before, it was now officially bordering on alternate dimension.

About five paces off from where he was standing, she felt herself flat-out stop under the pure awe-instilling nature of it. She was pretty sure her mouth was hanging open, too, and that she was practicing a wonderful impersonation of one of those creatures muggles kept in small tanks and used as decorations…goldfish, were they?

Well, this certainly solved the mystery of where-was-Snape-at-breakfast. Good hygiene took a lot of time—especially for those unaccustomed to such things.

Especially for those with at least six months of grease to make up for.

His gaze slid sternly over her, and she stammered with disbelief. "W-what…have you gone mad? Have you finally lost it?"

Scowling as per usual, the Potions Master scoffed at what was apparently a severe lack of intelligence on her part. "Dear Aurora, your perceptive abilities do leave something to be desired, it seems."

"Is that all? Do I even get an explanation for this…whatever this is? What is that supposed to even—"

It hit her like a solid wall of brick, effectively putting the end of her sentence to an untimely death. He hadn't been waiting for_ something_—he'd been waiting for _someone_.

_Her._

Except, that just confirmed it.

"Me? You're doing this for _me?_ As in, you're going? Merlin's beard, you _have_ gone mad."

"On the contrary, I am not 'doing this for you.' I am—"

"Are you sure you're feeling alright—you don't need to see Pomfrey? There _is_ a case of Scrofungulus going around."

"Yes, I am sure. This is not for your benefit, however you may refuse to believe."

"Well, then what's it for? Tell me; enlighten me, please."

He said nothing, but offered a hand. The gesture itself was commanding and impatient, like he couldn't be bothered for it, but…his hand? What got her was the sheer _un-_necessity of it. She could've just grabbed his arm, or his wrist, or his shoulder, or…the end of his sleeve, even. He could've grabbed _her_ arm.

It was all so very…polite. For Snape.

And for about two and a half seconds, she just stood there, staring down at her hand in his, expecting something to happen. When nothing did, she remembered that was because, technically, only _she_ knew where they were going.

"Oh," she said, rather dumbly. "Er—right. Right then. We're going to Albany; that's in America."

"I am aware," responded Snape tersely.

"Alright then, just…trying to be helpful, I guess." Though why she bothered she wasn't sure she wanted to know. "Hang on—you…how did you know?"

"Surprising as it may seem to you, I am not entirely removed from knowledge of the world's geography."

"No, no, not about Albany…I mean, how did you know it was today? The wedding, that is. How did you know to be right here, right in this spot, right now? Have you…you haven't been spying on me, have you?"

The look he gave her was all she needed to know.

But if he wasn't spying on her…

He _had_ talked to Nigel…

But Nigel had nothing to do with the wedding…

"You!" she pointed intelligently at his chest.

Eureka.

"You…you…_that's_ what you were doing!"

Her mail.

He'd gone through her mail to find the date and time of the wedding—to plan accordingly. It might have been flattering, in a weird and creepy sort of way, that he'd actually been planning on attending for all this time…except it wasn't. Because it was the furthest thing on the planet from anything even somewhat rational.

Merlin, he could've just asked her. Was that so difficult? But no, he'd rather invade her privacy, the very core of all things impolite, and pretend like it never happened than admit to her that he'd changed his mind. The man really would do anything to see that he'd never have to back down, wouldn't he?

Egotistical prick.

And he thought he could get away with standing there with one eyebrow raised in disdain…like _he_ was so high and mighty.

She saw straight through him. Yes, indeed—she could put even Mad-Eye to shame with her glorious Snape-vision.

"You know," she smirked, "what if I'd found someone else to go with me? I think you'd look pretty ridiculous right now."

He sniffed. "The likelihood of such an event is relatively nonexistent."

What was _that_ supposed to mean?

"Don't you _dare_, Severus. Don't you think you're doing me any favors. I could've gotten plenty of other people to go with me, you know—don't look at me like that, it's true!"

"Oh…? Then tell me, why is it that you did not obtain the unlucky consent of another of these said 'other people,' if you are so capable? As it so happens, I do not at all retain any belief that I am, as you say, doing you a favor. _If_ you had been listening, you would know that I am hardly doing this for your emotional security."

"Yeah, and my Aunt Shermie is a hippogriff."

"Scarcely shocking."

"_Do_ shut up. For your information, Sev, I didn't ask anyone else—I asked _you_, you jerk."

Unexpected silence. Apparently, he had nothing to say to that—which was more or less startling. Wasn't this the part where he stomped all over her puny self-confidence, told her she was a fool, said she was mistaken and walked off, that sort of thing?

Well, he must've thought that standing there and staring blankly down at her was somehow insulting to her, because that was exactly what he did for approximately five seconds.

After which they were interrupted by a particularly loud cat-call from a student who was now making a lewd movement at them from inside what, she was oh-so-pleased to note, was a small crowd that had developed around them somewhere in the span of time they'd been snapping at each other.

To be honest—who could blame her?—that was the last straw.

Rounding on the offending student with all the wrath of a woman provoked by Severus Snape, she jammed a finger into the kid's chest, shrieked "fifty points from Slytherin!", clawed into Snape's hand, and disapparated.

Actually, she had no idea whether or not the kid had even been a Slytherin; she'd just _really _wanted to say that. But it wasn't like it mattered—she was sure that at least one of the onlookers (seriously, hadn't children these days been taught to mind their own business?) had been a Slytherin, and that was enough for her.

Sliding out of the vacuum that was apparition and feeling light and sound greet her by kindly smacking her in the face as her feet made solid contact with the ground, she heard Snape curse as he ripped himself away from her.

Uh-oh.

Most of the fury drained out of her quite hastily as soon as she realized that what she'd just done had been incredibly and unforgivably stupid.

"Oh, God, Severus?"

She found him glaring at her from her left, seemingly intact.

"Are you—" She was almost afraid to ask.

"You might consider, perhaps, making use of what little sense you have in order to _think_, if such a word exists in your vocabulary, about what you are doing: preferably _beforehand_. I promise you it will result in significantly fewer casualties."

"So…" He didn't appear to be missing anything, and she didn't see any blood…but that told her nothing about the status of his internal organs—and those were, on the whole, a lot more important than, say, an eyebrow. "Does that mean you're okay, then? You…didn't get splinched?"

"Miraculously, no."

She stepped to him, looked him over. "You're sure?"

Something flashed across his expression, too fast for her to read, and it was gone before she could get a good gage on it. "Yes."

"You're absolutely positive—like, one hundred percent? All your fingernails, all your teeth, all your—"

"_Yes_, Aurora." He sighed, starting up the steps to the tall building in front of them, and it softened his tone. "I am certain."

Sylvester Sinistra, oddity that he was, lived in a flat very high up in a steel-structured muggle-building in the middle of a capitol muggle-city. …it was no wonder that he was marrying a muggle. Really, one didn't have to think very hard about it.

He _had_, however, made a few…alterations…of his own.

What one normally thought of as a flat had been transformed into a five-story mini-mansion with the help of a little thing called the extension charm. It had five kitchens, an indoor quidditch field, and more bathrooms than she knew what to do with.

All she could think of when she saw it was how severely ripped-off the poor muggle he paid rent to was.

When he met them at the door with "Larry! God, you're perfect! Come, eat crackers and cheese with the rest!" he was wearing a glistening suit that looked like it was made of glass but liked to change colors occasionally (it particularly favored neon yellow), and sporting a light pink puffskien on his shoulder with five more of various shades at his feet.

Snape looked vaguely horrified, in his way.

"Told you so," she muttered to him across the threshold.

Compared to her brother, Aurora was a paragon of normalcy.

Stepping into the living area was a lot like stepping into Diagon Alley: the crowd was week-before-school-starts worthy. Within an hour, Aurora had shook what felt like hundreds of hands, unable to tell who was magically inclined and who was not, and the only name she remembered correctly, sadly, was that of the puffskien on her brother's shoulder.

And that was only because it was _Vladimir_.

Through the sea of relatives and soon-to-be relatives, she could hear Sylvester bellowing for her across the room: "Larry and Larry's companion! Yes, yes, may I borrow you a moment? It is simple essential that you meet my future life-partner!"

Wading and prodding her way over as best she could, she finally arrived with a tense and unhappy Snape in-tow at the side of her grinning brother, whose suit was now dark orange. On his other side was this veela of a girl with jet black hair and bright hazel eyes, and Aurora was fairly certain she did a double-take. The woman had all the right proportions, had thick and dark lashes, pouty red lips, and reminded the Astronomy professor very much of a cat.

Of all the unfairness in the world…

"Sister, I am proud to present to you my dear Tasha. Tasha, this is Larry, the greatest sister in the galaxy, and Larry's companion."

But wait! She hadn't spoken yet! There was hope yet.

"Hello," Tasha said smoothly, and all Aurora's hopes plummeted. "Nice to finally meet the mysterious sister. I was beginning to think you didn't exist—with the way Sylvester is, you never know. You're prettier than I expected. Oh, and…I'm sorry, you must be Severus Snape, I just know it. I…read about you in _Hogwarts, A History_. Guilty pleasure: all of this magic is so interesting."

Merlin, there was nothing wrong with the girl. …why was there nothing wrong with her? It was unsettling.

Granted, there was something about the way she worded things that set Aurora on-edge, but that was hardly anything to go on.

"Yeah, hi," she put in, trying not to sound overwhelmed.

In expecting Snape to at least give his signature "you-aren't-worth-my-time" response, she was surprised when he said nothing. Thinking it was probably his new way of being rude, she had already decided to ignore his general brutishness…before she saw his face.

It wasn't something urgently noticeable, at least not to the average person…but for the professional Snape connoisseur such as herself, it was petrifyingly obvious that he was completely taken aback. He kept eyeing the woman, squinting at her like she couldn't be real, and it was all Aurora could do not to tell him to stop drooling.

Because…eww. _Eww._ Who would've thought?

But Snape was a goblin, anyway. There was no way he even knew how to properly romance someone. And even so, Tasha was much better off with her phenomenon of a brother.

So there. Snape was destined to be alone forever, just like her. Ha.

…so then why didn't she feel better about it?

"Isn't she just _galvanizing?_" exploded Sylvester, reaching an arm around his cat-veela.

"Er—what?" Honestly, she had no idea what that even meant.

Sylvester didn't look like he cared much, though, as long as she was listening. "Isn't she marvelously divine, divinely nebulous, nebulously marvelous? Isn't she veraciously a quintessence of protean preeminence? Isn't she?"

Ah. The Sylvester-thinks-he's-a-poet moments: she knew them well. Mostly, because his unnecessary use of multi-syllabic words drove her a bit crazy. He was probably smart enough to have been in Ravenclaw, but she reserved no doubts that he did, in fact, rightly belong in Hufflepuff.

It was then, after this avalanche of wordy nonsense, that Sylvester and Tasha threw themselves at each other and began snogging profusely.

In short, that was Aurora's cue to make an escape while she still had the chance; she practically ran for the bathroom. Well, not _the_ bathroom. Maybe the 126th bathroom. But as long as if served its purpose and gave her a few spare moments of non-Sylvester-engorged time, it could've been a broom closet for all she cared.

Unfortunately, there seemed to be, as luck would have it, a house elf. A _house elf._ And not _just_ a house elf—a house elf that was wearing a purple polka-dotted pillowcase and reading a novel as it scrubbed.

Why, oh _why_ did such things happen to her. Of all people—_her?_

Merlin's beard, since when could those things _read?_ They were officially plotting world domination, she just knew it.

At her shriek of horror and surprise (but mostly surprise, of course), the elf squeaked shrilly back at her, dropping its book and the rag it had been scrubbing with. It scrambled after them as she backed up against the wall in preparation to remove one of her shoes and throw it if need be, but as soon as it had scooped up the dropped items it disappeared with a quiet "pop."

To say the least, it was a bit…anticlimactic.

Sagging against the wall she'd previously been trying to push herself through, she allowed herself to slide down to the carpet.

Carpet. In a bathroom. …only Sylvester.

Aurora took a moment to ponder the empty picture frame in the corner before putting her head in her hands. To think: this was only the beginning of the madness.

And Snape was no help whatsoever, him and his cat-veela ogling. What was with him, anyway?

"Might I suggest that you look quite stunning?" suggested a familiar voice.

She jumped up, whirling, but…she was the only one in the bathroom. There were no feet in the stalls (he had _stalls_…Merlin…)—she was completely alone.

Oh, God, she was going crazy, wasn't she? She'd finally lost it, was that it? She'd always known this day would come.

"On the wall, Aurora," the voice continued helpfully.

Looking around at the walls as recommended, she came to the striking revelation that the picture frame in the corner was no longer empty.

But…no way…

"Er—Nigel?"

Well, that was awkward.

The man in the picture nodded sagely. "Indeed. You look splendid. I thought you'd like to know you left your window open, by the by."

"D-did I? Drat. Erm—thanks, though."

Okay, so today could not _possibly_ get any weirder. …except, yes, it could; she'd since learned her lesson.

"Not at all. Oh, not to worry, though; that cheery lass of yours shut it for you."

"Did she? That's…nice of her."

Was this for real?

"Oh, yes, I thought so too. I thanked her for you; I believe she's positively delightful. Say, you wouldn't happen to know where we are, would you?"

Somehow, she got the feeling that she should have picked up on something that was fairly important, possibly vital. As it was, she could only frown up at the picture she'd walked past hundreds of times in her room…_not_ in her room. It left her unconditionally lost.

With the sense that she was missing something rather large, she answered, "Well, for starters, you're in the ladies' lavatory."


	10. Capricorn: In Deep

Hi there! Long time no see. Since I suppose a large number of you would appreciate an explanation for my, uh...inexcusable tardiness...here's my attempt at a worthy excuse: college. And profuse apologies. I really would've liked to update sooner, yet every time I tried to write it seemed like my time was being sucked up by some metaphysical, divine being who really hates updates. Believe me, though, it was just as tough for me as it was for you. I promise I will never abandon this story, though-not even a little bit. I love it too much. That being said, I hope you enjoy this new chapter despite its profound lateness. Thank you to all my dedicated fans who have stuck it out this far! I love you guys!

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><p>Capricorn: In Deep<p>

Clearly, this was over her head.

…literally.

There was a door in Sylvester's flat-mansion that opened on a small underground lake somewhere in South America, and this was where the lucky couple had chosen the location of their ceremony. Not _beside_ the lake. Not even _on top_ of the lake.

_Under_ it.

_In_ it.

Right in the middle of a dark, ominous lake inside a dark, ominous cavern.

Aurora couldn't say it was what she would have chosen given the circumstances, but it didn't come as a complete surprise knowing her brother. She'd known all along that this was going to be something she'd really rather not be involved with.

Just looking at the black water made her nauseous. She'd even gone as far as to clutch at Snape's arm. Because she was nauseous and he just happened to be standing next to her, of course.

It wasn't like she went out of her way to touch him, or anything—that would be irrevocably insane, given how often the man took a shower.

…even though he'd _just_ taken one that morning. But that did not count and neither did she want to contemplate such things. Snape unclothed and in the shower—Snape unclothed at _all_—was not an image she wanted in her head. Ever.

Once actually in the lake, though, she found it wasn't all that terrible. At least, not as bad as she'd thought it was going to be. As long as she didn't run into any kelpie…or kappa, for that matter.

Over 100 wizards were killed annually due to incidents involving kappa. It was true.

And she didn't really fancy making that plus one.

It was actually all very simple—Sylvester went around the party with a little bit of wand-waving business, and then said they were good to go. At first, she was skittish of even touching the water with the end of her toe (all before Snape "accidentally" shoved her in), but as it turned out I was a lot like swimming around in a giant bubble, thanks to Sylvester's magic.

Huh. So the man was actually good for something, after all.

She'd never admit it, but it was a little fun. There were all these lights set up beneath the surface—like little glowing balls of light, all sorts of colors, floating up and down—and they brought out a royal blue to the color of the water, revealing what must have been at least a dozen schools of fish.

Aurora tried to get Snape to look at one (it was right by his foot, after all), but that was before she remembered who she was dealing with. Grabbing at his arm only caused him to pull away.

She had even pointed, persistence granting her the grace, but had he looked? Had he even acknowledged the fact that she'd tried to get his attention?

Well, of course not. Frankly, she had no idea why she bothered anymore.

Slimy git.

In the very center of the lake, attached to the bottom, there was an even bigger bubble that, when they approached it, engulfed them in what she thought was a very efficient manner. As far as giant human-swallowing bubbles went, this one was up there with the best.

And then she was standing in what was a spacious, underwater garden. It was fairly sizeable—and by that she meant a heck of a lot bigger than any garden she'd ever seen. They must have been growing this thing for months, she realized; these flowers were real, and there were hundreds of them, all different sorts.

It was an explosion of color, accompanied by the thick scent of several varieties of flora. Although Aurora didn't pride herself as a herbologist—nothing close, really—she _had_ learned a few things from Sprout. And she was more or less positive that flowers were not usually so…well, noisy.

The fact of the matter was that the Astronomy professor simply couldn't fathom that the beauty of this spectacle had anything to do with her brother unless there was not at least _something_ a little off about it. That something was this: the flowers just so happened to be whispering. _Whispering._ As in, they _whispered._

Literally.

She had no idea what they were saying, though, on account of the fact that they were all whispering at once.

"I wonder what happens if you pick one," she pondered aloud. "Do they scream or something?"

Snape shot her a sideways look, deliberately moving to step on one.

"Hey, don't—I didn't _actually_ mean—"

Too late. When he lifted his foot, there was one very much crushed tulip.

It hadn't screamed, but she imagined there was one less whisper. It was a tad depressing.

"Well, that wasn't very nice," she said plainly. As if she expected him to be nice? "Here, move, don't just stand on it like that."

She tugged him away from it, feeling bad for having said anything, and noted at the sight of it that Snape was, unsurprisingly, a prick. The man killed _flowers_.

Seriously. What wasn't evil about a man who killed flowers?

Snape was a flower-killer. Therefore, she couldn't like him. It was that simple.

"Listen—" Aurora looked around, remembering, probably because of the dead flower, that there was a serious matter afoot. "Can we talk? I know it's your favorite thing to do and all, but we have time…and this is important."

He raised an eyebrow, and she could see the challenge clearly in the tilt of his head, the movement of his lips. What could she possibly have to say that was important, right?

"It's about that thing we discussed, about the scarf…" she trailed off, and his eyes narrowed on hers.

Suddenly he was all too accommodating, it seemed. Directing her more away from the glob of arriving guests still ogling, he turned to her fully.

"Yes, Aurora?"

"Jeez, nothing gets your attention like my potential death, does it?" She meant it one way, but his guarded pause gave it another. Fighting a losing battle with the blood in her cheeks, she continued. "Er—anyway. Could you…erm, please…tell me a bit more?"

His jaw tightened. "What more do you have an interest in knowing? The tone of your skin in death, or perhaps the length of your funeral?"

_Goblin._

"Sev, what aren't you telling me? There's something going on, and you know it."

"Anything I may or may not know is not for your discretion."

"Well, then would you like to tell me why I just met Nigel in the bathroom? Why that scarf only reacted to you? Why you're really here?"

He bristled, and the entire focus of his gaze was searing into her. From the force of it she was actually feeling a bit light-headed. But she could tell he was thinking, too, because he became very still.

"Nigel…?" he said, very quietly.

"Yeah. Mind telling me why it's a problem? This is all really weird, Sev. Too weird. Weirder than Lovegood weird. I mean, if _I_ notice it, something's _gotta_ be up."

He sneered viciously, but sighed. Finally. And he opened his mouth.

Except, then there was this unignorably loud crash, and Sylvester and Tasha came bursting in on a broomstick. A _broomstick._

_Why?_ Why couldn't the fates, or her brother, or the world in general, or _something_ just let up—just for _one minute?_

A _broomstick._ Underwater. Was there no end to the absolute _bizarre _that he embodied?

She could have screamed. In fact, she almost did: Aurora truly started to turn and exact her revenge in the form of a verbal tirade on anyone unfortunate enough to be within hearing range…but Snape must have anticipated it, because he did the strangest thing.

Sweeping past with his usual scoff, he then hooked an arm through hers and forcefully dragged, hauling her to where the remainder of the crowd stood gawking at the couple on the broom.

For a split-second, she was too stunned to be angry. Not for his rudeness—that was nothing new—but for the way he'd gone to the trouble of saving her the embarrassment. …although, he was probably just saving himself the headache.

He promptly let go of her, of course.

"You're telling me later," she grumbled. "Right?"

"Telling you what, precisely?"

"Don't you back out of it now—you were _so_ about to tell me just then!"

"I haven't the faintest—"

"Oh, you—"

The ceremony began. It started with a short man that stood up to say a few things about love, and continued with a sphinx posing riddles to the overly excited bride and groom. Apparently, this was their idea of romantic.

Behind her, a relative she recalled as one of her distant cousins blew her nose three times in concession, loudly, before directly launching into a Sneer-provoking howl of a sob.

On her other side, an old lady claiming to be Sylvester's friend's brother's mother (or was it his mother's brother's friend?) complained to anyone who would listen that she was allergic to matrimony. Just to top it off, or possibly just because Snape looked like the last person on earth anyone would want to annoy, the man next to the Potions Master then turned to him with watery pink eyes and said, in all sincerity, "Sir, I am very sorry for your loss."

Snape, with all the glory of his foreboding presence, arched a single, unamused eyebrow.

"Your wife," tried the man again, glancing perplexedly at the montage of black that was Snape's attire (seriously, did the man even own one item that wasn't black? Did he make any distinction at all between "wedding" and "funeral"?). "I presume you're in mourning? I'm sorry, it's just…my wife, she—it's been two months. How long, for you?"

After this, it became increasingly difficult for Aurora to hold back a rather impressive snort. Snape in mourning? Ha. Maybe for the loss of the soul he never had.

"You presume wrong," he would, of course, say. It was entirely too predictable.

Except…he didn't. He didn't say that at all.

What he actually said was: "Yes. Fourteen years."

At that point, she felt very much entitled to note that she was _not_ the only one whose mouth was ajar. The man doing the asking, having _not_ expected the answer he received in the least, promptly shut up.

"Sev," she said after a pause, tentatively. Looking up at him, she touched his arm to test the waters.

Naturally, he ignored her.

"Sev, you…she…I…you can't…" Open mouth, insert foot.

"Can't I?" he snapped, and if she didn't know any better she'd say he sounded desperate.

But wait…no. Just no. Oh, holy stars above, no.

"Severus," intoned Aurora, suddenly very quiet. "You…really are teaching Harry Potter outside of class, aren't you?"

His jaw tightened. Which was _not_ a good sign. Not at all.

Fourteen years ago, Lily Potter died. Fourteen years ago, Severus Snape returned to Hogwarts as a professor after Lily Potter died. …fourteen years ago, Severus Snape left the service of Lord Voldemort to return to Hogwarts as a professor after Lily Potter died.

Ten years later, Lily Potter's only son came to Hogwarts as a first year. And, four years after that, once Voldemort was, face it, "back," Snape was suddenly and mysteriously teaching something to Harry Potter. And acting as the wizarding world's James Bond.

He said he hated the boy, but…

"You've lived your entire life for her, haven't you?" For fourteen years. …all that time. And still.

It was so heartbreaking, so unbelievably and suffocatingly romantic, that she could feel herself choking up at the thought. Because, who was she kidding, Snape was _human_.

The tears pricking at the corners of her eyes felt almost unreal, stinging with something a little stronger than sympathy.

When he looked to her, however, it was with disgust alone.

"Aurora, I implore you…stop crying. Not only does it render you more unbecoming than usual, but it is wasted and, furthermore, insulting."

"Oh, go to Hell."

His eyes were fire. "Gladly."

_Shudder_.

Someone in the row before them turned to, in the most obnoxious manner possible, shush them. Needless to say, this person went largely ignored.

"Listen, Sev," she tried sounding confidant. "This position you're in, that you've put yourself in…is it really what you want? …for you?"

He remained silent, but the expression on his face was a lovely shade of _dear Aurora, you know nothing of my desires, kindly stop speaking of things you cannot fathom._

But oh, she could. She could fathom, and all too well. Little did he know, she knew exactly what she was talking about, and exactly the type of "position" he was in, too. Muaha.

…geez, was it bad that she was now able to formulate the entirety of his responses simply by looking at his face? That was a bad sign, right?

"As I have previously informed you, there are certain matters in this world, the importance of which far surpassing and rarely coinciding with any amount of enjoyment derived. Regrettable as it may seem, what I _want_ matters precious little."

"Severus Snape," reprimanded Aurora in her best no-nonsense tone. "You can't _seriously_ mean to tell me what you want doesn't matter."

"I believe I just did."

"Since when were you such a martyr?"

He stared. She reconsidered.

Exhibit A: fourteen-year mourning period.

"Okay, nevermind, point taken. But listen, and I mean _listen_…if you go around like that, you get nothing. I'm not stupid, Sev." Here, he raised a contradictory eyebrow. "Alright, look: you have to have a balance, here. You have to live your life for you, too. And don't tell me you don't understand that because it's true and you know it. It's all good and well to do things for other people and whatnot, but…" _But she's gone? Get over it?_ "…but how do you expect to be able to give them what they want if you can't even give that to yourself? I mean, really."

"Quite easily, I imagine."

"Excuse me?"

"I may expect to do so quite easily. By removing myself as a variable from the equation, I may more readily satisfy the demands in need of accommodation."

"Variable? …_variable?_ This isn't Potions, you…you… blastended skrewt! This is your _life_—you can't just sign it off as potion-making. There's no reason why you can't satisfy yourself and others. You can do _both_."

"Unfortunately, the world is not so ideal. Furthermore, seeing as y—…blastended skrewt, Aurora?"

"W—er…ignore that."

It was then that he did something truly extraordinary.

But no. She couldn't have seen it right. There had to be something in her eye, or bad lighting, or…nargles. Or something. Because there was _no way_ that his eyebrows had moved up, that his nose had kind of scrunched, that _the corner of his mouth twitched up_…and that he was now biting his lip a little bit like he couldn't keep it in place otherwise.

It was impossible. It couldn't happen.

It was a facial tic. Yes. That had to be it. Snape just had a very…odd…facial tic.

Good God and stars above, the man had almost smiled.

Merlin, that was a close call. She could still feel the breeze of it speeding past.

But oh, they had now advanced to the vow-taking stage. Tricky business, considering Sylvester had, of course, elected to write them himself.

Personally, she thought the matching rings were a nice touch. If one didn't look too closely at the large, square intrusion of ruby, that is.

Although, she had to point out that the one for Sylvester looked a little funny, like… Maybe it was just her. It was probably just her. After all, who was she to say anything?

Next to her, Snape stiffened. It wasn't exactly noticeable, at least not to anyone that didn't know him, and in fact it was really very subtle. She wouldn't have even noticed it, actually, if she hadn't been looking at his hands—because his knuckles went ghostly white.

Not that she ever spent a lot of time looking at his hands. As in, it wasn't like that was a pass-time or anything. They certainly weren't anywhere near remotely resembling fascinating, or captivating, or anything like that. Because no.

Heavens no.

Just…no.

Well, of course it had been an accident! She'd just…_happened_ to be looking at his hands. Not _examining._ Not even looking at, really, just…staring absorbedly. At the space before his hands. Yes.

Nonetheless, the result of all this was Aurora's ability to acknowledge the fact that something was very, very wrong. And not in the normal fashion: because with Snape, one could never be quite certain.

But this wasn't his usual flavor of malignancy towards the world; this wasn't in the manner of _I hate weddings, I hate Aurora, I hate my life, die._ Normally, she might have chalked it up to his general attitude towards the whole process, but interestingly enough, she didn't think gaudy rings—despite their atrocity, because, she had to note, they _were_ pretty ugly—merited quite that reaction, even in Snape.

More interesting was the fact that this worried her for some reason.

In a feeble attempt to abate…his tension? Her concern?...she tapped at his knee with an index finger. Even more feeble, so she thought, she spoke. "What's wrong?"

"You have your wand with you, I hope." It was his only answer. Merlin he _lived_ to be frustrating. It wasn't even a hobby or a part-time whim: no, it was a full-on _career_.

"Could you be any more cryptic? I mean, seriously, is that an insult or a threat? I don't think you could possibly get any more unpleasant if you tried. And that's not an invitation."

Briefly, he glanced at her. She didn't recognize the look she saw in his eyes, and it was not pleasing in the least.

"I implore you, do try to acknowledge my enquiry."

"Oh, I implore _you_ to acknowledge _mine_."

"Aurora."

"Severus."

No way was she backing out of this one. It was his turn to deliver some answers, and if he didn't, she would make it her life-goal to torment his every waking and non-waking moment.

Because it certainly wasn't something she applied herself to as of yet. It was more of a passing indulgence, really, but oh, it could get much, much worse for him.

"You are being senselessly unreasonable," he shot at her under his breath.

"_Me? I_ am? You're the one who practically answered my question with a question! What _is_ that, anyway? You must take me for a brainless lunatic if you have to ask whether or not I have my wand."

…except, oh, right: he _did_ think she was a brainless lunatic. Flattering.

This time, he didn't even respond. Which was so typical she could've slapped him. Or whipped out her want and shoved the business end at his big, unshapely nose for further proof that she did, in fact, have it in her possession.

Instead, he chose to shoot up out of his seat, which was particularly precognizant of him on account of what happened next.

Leaving behind more than a few befuddled friends and relatives, alongside a half-upright Snape, the couple vanished. Just like that. _Vanished._ Poof—Gone.

Honestly, she was getting really tired of the whole incessant confusion thing. Really. It was getting old.

And Snape was no help, either. Not even a little bit.

As she was busy blinking across at the empty space where Tasha and her brother had been and the rest of the attendance peered along with her, that _wicked_, _evil, slimy, unimpressive, not-sexy-in-the-slightest_ bat of a man was already grabbing her by the shoulder and dragging her out of her seat.

"B—what—h-hey…where do you think you're going? Let go! What's the matter with you?" …_besides_ the obvious.

It looked almost like the remaining guests were preparing to leave as well, but she couldn't exactly tell on account of the fact that she was being dragged.

As soon as they were out of the lake and in the flat she tried yanking him to a halt, but to no avail. He ploughed on, ever resilient, like a bludger to the head of Oliver Wood.

"Severus, do you _mind?_" she demanded. "Are you planning on telling me what the hell is going on? Where we're going? Anything?"

"Patience, Aurora," retorted the _goblin_, and he swung around a corner with her veering along behind him, uninformed as ever.

People were beginning to sprinkle steadily into the flat behind them. She might have stopped him to give him what for, had he not promptly flung her through the nearest door and stuffed himself in after her.

Stuffed.

Because _of course_ it was a closet. What else could it be?

Out of all the rooms it could _possibly_ have been—a bedroom, a work room, an indoor pool, even a _bathroom_, because Merlin knew her brother had enough of them—it was, without a doubt, a closet. Truly, she commended him for his choice.

For a minute, she was much too preoccupied with the coat hanger jabbing into the top of her spine to really take note of how uncomfortably (literally) close he was to her, but on realizing this predicament she was, needless to say, more than a little taken aback. And disgusted.

"My God, what's your deal? What that really necessary? Really? I mean, I'm probably going to get lice from standing in here now. Or moths. And this is an expensive dress. If this dress gets moth-eaten because of you, you're so buying me a new one. Plus, despite what you might think, personal hygiene is actually an important aspect of life. I know you already have lice and probably always have, but I don't exactly enjoy that sort of thing."

"As you seem unaware, let me acquaint you with the certainty that, as the case may be, your petty concerns with insect infestations are comparably insignificant."

"Comparable to _what?_ The infestation in your _hair?_"

As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she saw his best scowl of disapproval up close and personal.

"I must ask you to focus for a moment, if you don't mind," he said rather testily, choosing to ignore her. "What do you know about your brother's fiancée?"

So _that's_ what this was about. Somehow, pretending that it wasn't a slap in the face just didn't seem to work as well as it should have.

"You mean his _wife?_" she snapped. "I know I saw the way you were drooling all over her. Which is highly inappropriate, I might add."

He paused over that, taken aback. Ha.

And then he frowned. "Hardly."

"What do you mean h—"

"Aurora, I presume you are familiar with the concept of a portkey?"

"Yes, but—"

"In such a case, I trust that you had no trouble discerning this of your dear brother's ring."

"His…but so what, they just went on a honeymoon, right? That's what that was, wasn't it?"

"No, Aurora," he said quietly.

Silence. Cramped silence, pressed against a coat hanger with his elbow in her side.

"Okay, so then this would be the part where you tell me what you know."

He was breathing way too close to her, in her opinion, and she could feel it when his breath swept past her face.

"The day your painting came to consult me," he intoned, "it was to inform me of the fact that a certain person had been, shall we say, interrogating him over my personal habits."

_Finally._ Finally he talked.

She half-expected there to be a beam of light with choral accompaniment.

Except…wait.

"_Interrogating _him? Nigel? In my _room?_"

"Not quite."

"Not…?" Oh. _Oh._ "You mean in the bathroom! Here!"

He nodded once.

"But who…?" She froze.

House elves. There was no question. Dear God, they were plotting her demise. And she knew it! She'd known it all along! No one had listened to her, but _now_—now she had proof!

For her expression of utter terror, he gave her a strange look. "Given the situation and your lack of observation, I am obligated to inform you that your brother's _wife_ is not what she may seem."

At that, she thought. She thought hard…considered his point…and drew nothing. "Severus, will you _please_ just tell me straight what the _hell_ is going on? I'm so sick of trying to squeeze this out of you it's not even funny."

He shifted forward and she shifted back, ploughing over a set of broomsticks stacked somewhere behind her.

"What I tell you," he said sharply, "is merely for your own protection. Listen carefully, and do not—"

"Oh, no. You're telling me the whole thing, right from the start, or no deal."

"…and do _not_," he spat, "interrupt me."

When he looked her over for recognition of this fact, she pursed her lips in silence.

"Now. Upon my enquiry, your painting informed me that a duplicate to himself had been produced, but he was not familiar with the whereabouts of this alternate due to his…unfortunately limited perspective."

"Yeah, lavatories will do that. Funny how that is."

He gave her a pointed look, and she remembered to shut up.

"He did, however, prove useful in providing that the grievously curious individual was, in fact, female, and that, at his refusal to provide adequate information, she conveyed into Hogwarts a distraction in the form of a ghoul in order to secure the refused information herself."

"Merlin, you mean that ghoul…that was _her?_ But…what information did she want?"

"Aurora, refrain yourself. The point at which I surmised that this information was a means to an end, and not an end in itself, was the moment your scarf attempted to kill you. You recall what I said to you in the Great Hall? It is no coincidence. The reason the curse initiated at my touch…"

"…was so that you could stop it! Yes! She wasn't trying to murder me, she was trying to rile you up! She was giving you a warning, wasn't she? A taunt. Because…"

Because why? Obviously because Aurora was the only person the great bat ever talked to, but _why?_ Who would have it out for Snape?

…bad question. Very bad question. Better question: who would have it out for Snape that would have the guts (and the ability) to actually go through with it?

Crazy people. Absolutely insane, maniac individuals. And the only crazy, insane maniacs she knew of, besides those at St. Mungos and Argus Filch, were Death Eaters.

Aha.

A memory floated towards her from somewhere in the recess (a.k.a. the dark, shadowy corners) of her mind: a conversation between Snape and Dumbledore , very one-sided. Accusations. Torture. Legilimency.

_If you fear for one moment that he might gain access to peer into your mind…_

_He trusts you, Severus…_

_He saw in me that boy's memories…naturally became suspicious and took action…_

_For twelve hours I've endured the probing…_

Merlin's beard! The Death Eaters! They were suspicious of him because Voldemort had, by some freak accident, seen a glimpse of Harry in his mind—of Harry's mind, because Severus was teaching him occlumency. Of course.

This probably gave her an excuse to be angry with him, considering her life was now being threatened by world-renown evil villains, and it was all his fault.

As best she could, she fixed him with a look that was more pleased than she had originally intended. "So…you came with me to protect me, didn't you? Is that what you meant, when you said this wasn't for my benefit? Because that's rich."

"Yes," he said through gritted teeth. Except, that was the only thing he said. Not "yes, but these are the reasons why your point is invalid," not "yes, I agree to all of the above," or even "yes, I agree to one and two but not to three." Just "yes."

Well. She was certainly in awe of his ability to carry on a conversation.

"Sev," she tested warily. "Why is Tasha threatening you?"

Obviously—or at least most probably—this woman had married her brother in order to get to her, in order to get to Snape. Because that wasn't the most indirect and ultimately problematic way to go about things ever.

But, surprisingly convenient deductive powers aside, she wanted to hear all of this directly from his lips. Based on his previous response to her multiple questions, the result was not looking favorable.

"Well?" prompted Aurora.

In a single moment of hesitation, he considered her from his end of the closet. Oh, the suspense. It was killing her back via coat hanger.

"It is in your best interest to know the least amount of information possible."

"_How_ is that in my best interest?"

"I assure you it is."

"Severus," she scolded. Honestly, it was now or never. If there was ever a time to let him know she knew what he knew, it might as well have been now. As was appropriate, she softened her tone a bit. "Listen. I know I'm usually very dense as far as you're concerned, and I get that. But…I'm not blind. I know what this is. It's because of Voldemort, isn't it? It's because you're a Death Eater. Not a real one, of course, but you pretend to be. Which is how this started. I don't really know how it happened considering you're supposed to be a master of occlumency and legilimency, but…maybe you were having an off day or something."

He stared. Not really a glare, exactly, but…she couldn't quite tell, anyway, due to the fact that they were in a closet and it was dark. Because closets were dark. Also because Snape basically always looked like he was unhappy even when he was amused, which was actually an almost admirable feat in her opinion. At least, he couldn't possibly be _that_ depressed _that_ much of the time.

Or maybe he could. How was she to know?

"Er—if you're planning on murdering me now," Aurora said tentatively, "or…something like that…then you don't have to. That is, I haven't told anyone. I mean, I don't plan on telling anyone. It was more or less an accident how I realized it anyway, kind of, and…I can see why you wouldn't want anyone knowing you're still working for You-Know-Who. Merlin knows they don't trust you as it is, which…might be understandable. You do come across as very…yes, well, at any rate, you can count on me."

Still staring. It was actually starting to get a bit creepy. Having already known that social cues were not his strong point, she was willing to give him some amount of leeway…but this was a little weird, even by his standards.

They were in a closet, Merlin forbid, with some lunatic sister-in-law out there waiting to kill them. Or something like that. Maybe torture them first, a little interrogation, some unforgivable, that sort of thing. She wasn't really all that familiar with the etiquette involved in these things, she had to admit.

Not one to be a mood-killer, she decided to keep talking. "You know, that's where I thought you'd gone this morning when you weren't there. It was actually a little maddening, to think that the great Dark Lord couldn't even hold his horses long enough to allow you poor people to eat some breakfast first, at least. I don't know about you, but I don't think evil-plan-making is an empty-stomach affair. Maybe not a full-stomach, either, since I can imagine it might be a tad disagreeable, but I'm sure you can find a nice in-between."

Okay, now it was weird. It had reached that point. It was officially _weird._

"Sev, _what?_ Yes, yes, I found out your little secret. Surprising, isn't it? I was actually clever, for once. Although it could've been the Acumencia. Thanks for that, by the way."

His somewhat vacant stare transformed into a much more familiar half-glare. It would have been a relief if it weren't for the "half" part. Because Snape never did things halfway.

"That information is dangerous, Aurora. I cannot advise you strongly enough against...frivolity, lest you become a danger to us both."

"Oh, really. I'm not impressed. After that, I expected more out of you than…well, a verbal admonishment. Oh, look, Aurora used a four-syllabled word. I must be getting smarter, right? More _perspicacious,_ right? You're not the only one who can use big words, you know. I didn't become a professor at Hogwarts with my looks, as if it isn't obvious. Where's the snarky comment? Did you run out of them? Where's the 'I regret to inform you, but your dearly calculated observations seem to be of little consequence to my capacious, porcine ego of bovine proportions'? Hmm? Did—"

His method of discontinuing her little tirade was actually quite effective. Not to mention unprecedented.

…and awfully horrific and disturbing on a giant-troll-meets-basilisk type of level. In fact, one might say it was petrifying. Her stomach churned at the very idea.

Except, that might also have been the butterflies. Who was she kidding? There was no getting past it.

There in the dark amongst coat hangers and brooms, Snape stopped her next word by swooping forward, practically plunging into her, and pulling her by the hair until his mouth was firmly planted on hers. Planted. Sprout would have been proud.

The last of the brooms clattered noisily to the floor when she stumbled. Swiftly, probably quicker than thought, one of his arms was around her and clamping her to his front.

For the time that it took for either of them to regain their senses, she was much too jarred to comprehend things like excuses and denial.

Snape was kissing her, closer than she ever remembered him being, _real_, and…she must have been crazy, but she couldn't deny that she was almost enjoying it. She didn't think he could deny it, either.

At least, not with the way he'd lunged into her like some reverse expelliarmus and was now firmly and fiercely stuck to her face. She was sure that if it was possible, he would've stolen her heart alongside the breath she was finding so hard to come by, but…that was just impossible. Physically speaking.

Although the heart _was_ just under lungs. Right next to them, really.

But no. No. Ew.

Merlin, though—if he'd wanted her to shut up that badly, he might've said something.

Granted, it was funny, but…she kind of liked this idea better. So then Sprout had been right all along?

Sweet, holy stars above, but she _had_ to thank her for that scarf.


	11. Aquarius: Falling

Hello, ladies and gents. Again, I apologize profusely for the lateness of this update, but hopefully it's worth it. As for the title of this chapter, I almost wanted to call it The Trap, but I decided to be in keeping with my little pun pattern. So, one can fall in love, fall into a trap, or...fall off a building. Or all three, depending on whether or not your name is Aurora Sinistra. I do know that you all want to know what the deal is with "Larry"...but I can't reveal all the secrets yet, now can I?

It's also worth mentioning that Aurora steps up her game in this one, or at least I like to think so. Thanks to everyone still reading, especially as we're getting so close to the end; you can't imagine how awesome that is. It really surprises me that people are still reading this. Shall I get down on my knees and worship? You guys are pure amazing, simple as that. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Oh, and reviews are nice too. ;)

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><p>11: Aquarius: Falling<p>

Her head was swimming.

Once he had finished trying to thoroughly pry her lips off of her face in those first clumsy moments of frantic breathing and searching, his rough (and extremely rude, she might have added) advancements slowed to a gentler pace. It was less like they were haphazardly thrown together, knocked into each other like two glasses celebrating a hasty toast, and more like they were molded together, fitted like a worn pair of jeans.

And he was worn. Worn and chipped. Worn and chipped in all the right ways, pieces broken off by others before her, and it was perfect. A perfect fit.

_Merlin_, it was like fate or some preposterous notion like that.

Their lips were barely touching, and she didn't dare open her eyes for fear of what she might see in his. She could've sworn she heard him sigh a little bit, too, but she couldn't really tell.

That was where the moment ended, though. As soon as he moved away her thoughts snapped into place, surging with confusion and insult and disgust.

Was it too much to ask that he warned her before he tried to snog her face off?

…then again, what would he have said? Pardon me, but I'm about to smash my face into yours and suck on it for awhile?

Like he was a leech. Or, even better: a dementor. Yes. A dementor. A giant, disgusting, clammy dead-looking thing that sucked out people's souls.

Maybe he was trying to replace the once he was born without.

…maybe hers would be a perfect fit.

Ugh. No. Goblin. Goblin that was now half-sprinting down the hallway without her.

"Hey, where are you going?" she demanded of him, jogging to catch up.

Almost imperceptibly, he shook his head. "It is unlikely that Tasha would, at this point, give up. I must caution you not to waste our time on mere folly, as your brother has the misfortune of being promoted to the position of bait. He is, as we are, very much in danger."

Mere folly? Is that what he thought about it? Ouch.

"So…where are we going?"

"Because the point would be to—" he stopped as they passed a group of chattering guests, slowed to a brisk walk, and lowered his voice. "…would be to _lure_ us into her trap, I suspect that she would not leave without bringing to our awareness a _hint_ of sorts."

No matter how she tried to keep up, it seemed he was always still one step ahead of her.

It bothered her. …need she remind him that she was in heels? It also bothered her that he didn't look at her when he spoke, not that he usually made much of an attempt to do so, but she didn't even get a sneer or a belittling _Aurora, please_ glance.

"So then what type of hint are you expecting? Where are you planning on looking?"

"People normally finance their 'vacations,' do they not?"

"Well, yes, but…Severus, do _not_ tell me you are going through my brother's _mail,_ because that is just—"

"Did he happen to mention to you any location of interest…perhaps a—"

"_No,_ he did not. If he had, I assure you I wouldn't be following the likes of you around."

"Welcome news."

The tone of his voice, or rather the lack of tone, was like ice-water to her veins, chilling to the core. She had to get a hold of herself. Honestly. A grown woman, falling apart over a kiss.

A kiss. So what?

But how had he done it? God, how had he regained his composure so quickly?

Unless…maybe he didn't really care at all. Maybe it was just that simple.

"Severus." She lunged to grab at him, pulling him around a corner until she was in front of him, blocking his path. "Severus, would you look at me?"

He didn't.

He tried to brush past her, but she refused to let him escape.

"Are we just not gonna talk about it?" insisted Aurora. "Were you just hoping I'd just, y'know, forget about it?"

A flash. She almost caught that look in his eyes, but she was foiled by a very adept brush of hair and glance to the side. His adam's apple moved when he swallowed, but he stood his ground. So he was uncomfortable.

Well that was just too bad, wasn't it?

"We have other, more pressing, matters to attend to, Aurora. That is, unless you prefer your immediate family to be killed and the responsibilities of my career to be left at stake. If that be the case, then by all means, Aurora, do feel free to chat away about the _constant emotional struggle_ that surely defines our…relationship."

"As if you _have_ emotions." _Relationship?_

"Nitpick away, I implore you. Time certainly is not of the essence."

"Severus, please. Sylvester knows how to take care of himself. And she won't kill him unless she has us."

"Forgive me, but you might find it prudent to consider that she does not need your brother _alive_ in order to draw us to her, so long as we _think_ he lives. _If_ you wish for him to retain his life, I suggest we act quickly."

"But that makes no sense! Why would she kill him? She has no reason to—"

"Believe me, Aurora, when I say she doesn't _need_ reason. Death Eaters rarely do."

That struck in her a chord of well-measured fear. "Really, why couldn't this lady just have stayed in your room when she let that ghoul in and tell you off _there_, save us the trouble? What's the _point?_"

"For reasons obvious to anyone aside from yourself, she could not confront me inside the school. Therefore, in a manner of inviting me away from that safeguard, she needed _leverage._ Becoming clear?"

"Uh…no. She used Sylvester to get to me to get to you, sure, but if you knew about it then why, _why_ did you take the bait and let yourself get led into this stupid trap? This _is_ my brother's life we're talking about, here."

"_Because_, Aurora, when a follower of the Dark Lord wishes to confront me I do not have the luxury of politely requesting the assistance of Albus Dumbledore and hoping they do not realize the shift in loyalty. Now, as you so aptly pointed out, the life of your brother is surely at stake. Or would you care to have me answer any more of your seemingly endless reserve of questions?"

He ducked away from her and stalked proudly around the corner, sharp-fitting dress robes and all. As much as she wanted to argue his loyalty was_ already_ in question, he was (and she couldn't believe she was actually thinking this) right. Biting her tongue, she ran doggedly after his sweeping gait in an attempt to catch his sleeve.

The goblin was doing his very best to drive her insane.

"Severus, I hate to say it, but this is crazy. We don't even know what we're looking for, and this place is _huge_."

"In which case, you might attempt to make yourself…useful."

Merlin, even now? Was there no end to his snark, even in life or death situations?

"Seriously, I don't like this any more than you do, but this just can't be it, you know? We've got to be missing something. I mean, we don't even know where he keeps his mail."

He didn't stop, not even for a second.

Around the same time that Aurora decided that it was impossible, that they were going to get nowhere, and that Snape was a crazy git with a death wish, something hit her.

Literally.

Out of the periphery of her vision, something came flying at her that smacked her dead in the face.

Needless to say, Aurora did what any sensible, logical, and rationalizing person would do in the given situation: give an earth-shattering shriek, stumble, and barrel into Snape.

The thing that had smacked her in the face went sailing off down the hallway; she knew because she had a great vantage point from where her cheek was crushed into the Potion Master's shoulder. Whatever it was, it looked oddly like a fluffy bludger.

Reminded her of one, too.

Now, it wasn't every day she had something round and fluffy propelled into her face at high speeds, and it was even more impressive to find something that had hit her in the face that didn't then end up at her feet.

Provided that what she'd just witnessed was ridiculous at best even from wizarding standards, she was rather proud of herself for not shrieking a second time.

"Uh…please tell me you saw that, too." At least a second opinion would prove whether or not she was delirious.

Naturally, Snape chose not to provide her with an answer to this fairly important question. Instead, he did the only sensible, logical, and rational thing given the circumstance: shove her away and take off at a dead sprint after whatever object had so kindly smashed into her.

After she was finished falling all over the wall, Aurora could only laugh, albeit hysterically. Mostly, because she'd never seen Snape run so fast in her entire life.

But also because he was racing after the world's largest, fluffiest snitch…or bludger, she couldn't decide after that.

Punctuating this thought, a crash sounded down the hall that suggested the breaking of glass, and she decided that it might be a good idea to see if Snape hadn't actually been beaten to death by a large ball of fluff.

"Sev…?"

She found him propped halfway out a jagged hole in a narrow window at the end of the corridor, peering upwards. From the looks of it, whatever had taken it upon itself to knock her over had also arrived at the conclusion that propelling itself through a glass window was a splendid idea.

They had to be at least a good twenty stories up, and the way Snape was leaning out over all that distance made her uneasy. Was he nuts? That was a long way down. As in, no chance of survival should he somehow lose his footing or…something like that.

Even if the prospect of his potential death didn't inspire any real agitation, the height itself was enough to make her jumpy.

"Uh…could you not hang out of a window like that? Not sure what I'd tell the Headmaster if you fell out a building at my brother's wedding."

"You might take solace in saying you pushed me," he droned, maneuvering himself back through the sharp opening.

"No, thanks. Azkaban: not exactly my cup of tea."

As he righted himself, straightening his cloak with a brisk tug downwards, he began surveying the window with what she liked to think was a little too much interest. "To the task at hand, we now have what seems to be a…_tentative_…location."

"We…do? How?" She really hoped it had nothing to do with the window he was now hauling upwards. "Okay, seriously, you gotta tell me—what the bloody hell was that…whatever that was?"

"A puffskein." It was all he said.

She was pretty sure her jaw dropped. It made sense, taking the fluff-factor into account, but…

"You know puffskeins can't fly, right? You're sure that's what it was?"

"The pink one."

"_Vladimir?_" Sylvester had it perched on his shoulder when they'd arrived—it was his favorite, though at the moment Aurora had a particularly difficult time seeing why.

At the name, Snape pulled what was his equivalent of a face. "The same."

"Look, what's with you and not telling me things? Can I get an explanation? I mean, is that really too much to ask?"

Sighing laboriously, like it actually took physical labor, he turned to face her. He still wouldn't look her in the eye, though, the goblin. "Your powers of perception are of precious little benefit to you, assuming you possess any such capability. Shocking as it must be to you, you are right. Your brother's pet does not have in it the aptitude for flight. Rather, it was summoned."

"…summoned?" Like a Death Eater? So, now Voldemort was recruiting cute, pink fluffy things? Although she might have been wrong about this, world domination via the cute and fluffy just didn't seem like the right (or evil) way to go about it.

"Yes, Aurora. Perhaps you've heard of an accio charm?"

_Git._

"Don't think I have, actually. Mind giving a demonstration, maybe on tact? You seem to have lost yours."

Score one for Aurora. Not surprisingly, Snape seemed none too pleased.

Stepping back from the open window, he gestured her towards it with the palm of his hand. "After you."

"Er…" What an awful joke. "I'd prefer to take the stairs, thanks."

"There isn't time for that. From the origin of the charm they appear to be on the roof."

"The…Oh, dear Merlin, you're serious." The roof…? It was convenient. But there was no way he was getting her through that window. No way in _hell._

"Quite."

"Severus," she warned. "Don't."

He quirked an eyebrow, dropping his hand to step towards the window. It was when he stepped _out_ of it that she started screaming. The man was insane. He was absolutely certifiable. He was officially a psychotic lunatic. He was demented, crazed, mad, a maniac.

…and alive.

On opening her eyes from having screwed them shut, she was astounded to find him very much intact outside the window, kind of floating there like it was every day he did this sort of thing.

"Wait, hang on…how are you not dead?"

With an amused little almost-smirk at her reaction, he offered her an insistent hand. "My status as a follower of the Dark Lord does provide me with…select advantages."

Such as _flying?_ Merlin, he really _was_ an overgrown bat—she'd known it all along.

"Don't suppose that includes x-ray vision or the ability to shoot spiderwebs from your wrists?"

His eyes narrowed. "Make your choice in a timely manner; I will not hesitate to leave you here."

"No. Severus…Sev, don't make me do this. I can't…I…no. This is crazy. No."

Without having to move his shoulders an inch, he shrugged. His floating away, upwards, sparked in her the courage she needed.

"Wait!" He waited. "I…" There was no way she'd make it up there in time, even if she found an elevator. This was her _brother_. Annoying and neurotic, yes, but very worth saving. Not to mention Snape. Letting him face that creepy cat veela on his own…without proper supervision and cheerleading…seemed wrong.

Oh, but he was _so_ going to drop her. She could just see it in his eyes.

"Aurora, I do not plan on dropping you."

…okay, that was seriously creepy.

"Are you using legilimency or something? Does your position on You-Know-Who's team of merry men also grant you the power to read people's minds without their knowledge?"

A simple sneer awarded her the answer. "It takes no form of prowess to ascertain the thoughts of someone so very transparent."

Making quite sure he saw her exuberant eye-roll, Aurora decided to take her chances in accepting his offer. Though she was none too thrilled about what this meant for her and heights—incredibly terrified, actually—she figured that she at least owed it to him to have a tiny, small, little modicum of trust when he was going so far as to try to rescue her brother.

"Go slowly, okay? No…backflips, or…barrel rolls…or anything like that."

She was sure she saw him give her a look. Not a look, exactly, but a _look_.

_That_ look.

They were increasing in frequency, she realized. But then again, maybe she was just seeing things. She _was_ already unnerved enough by the thought of nothing between her and death by unsightly squish but one Severus Snape. Who, for the record, was not her biggest fan.

Ignoring the fact that he'd kissed her, anyway. She was still convinced he was one sandwich short of a picnic, for that.

By the time she was out of the window, she was regretting her decision with something nearing steadfast devotion. As it turned out, the act of not plummeting to her death required her to hold onto him. Who knew?

There was nothing really wrong about this, exactly, except that…everything was wrong about it.

With her arms around his neck in fear for her life, she had no place for her head other than his shoulder, and the rough scratch of the wool in his cloak tickled at her nose. For very well-thought-out reasons, she didn't dare reach up to relieve the itch.

His arms were tight around her waist, too, and she had to concede that at least he was true to his word; with a grip like that, he wouldn't be dropping her any time soon.

If she wasn't so busy being nauseous, she might have noticed the point of heat provided by the flesh of his neck of the way their bodies pressed together so closely as rows of windows rushed downwards at her back.

The moment scattered when they reached the top of the grand building and Snape practically threw her down.

"Ow! Hey, what gi—" Abruptly, Aurora was stopped when Snape shot her a nasty look detailing for her to _kindly shut up_ before he nodded towards the far side of the rooftop.

What met her sight was enough to make her forget how much of a _goblin_ Snape was for the moment. Because between goblins and evil cat veelas, she had to say that goblins were the better choice.

"Larry!" squeaked an overly-excited Sylvester. "And Larry's companion! Oh, marvelous. Just marvelous! Now it really is a party…isn't it my darling wife?"

He was squeezing Vladimir in his arms as he stood at his wife's side, beaming for all the world like nothing was even remotely the matter with this situation. Couldn't live without his favorite pet, could he? He probably thought he was in Burma, too.

Sweet Merlin.

"A confundus charm?" she whispered to Snape, who gave a slight nod.

"It certainly is," Tasha proclaimed in answer to Sylvester. "So glad our guests could make it."

At that, Aurora had to snort. The woman was directly from a D-list supervillain movie.

"He sent you to investigate my loyalty," Snape said. It was a statement.

"He sent me to eliminate loose ends."

Loose ends? Surely Voldemort wouldn't compromise such a valuable asset with…well, death? Death was kind of a huge deal. Death was…a bit of a setback as far as "double" agents were concerned.

Then again, this was _Voldemort_. He could kill whoever he bloody well pleased. Aurora was starting to think that coming here was a very bad idea.

"I must regretfully inform you that you have been deceived."

"Decieved…?" For a fraction, the cat veela faultered. "No."

"Indeed. If He intended to put me to death it would be done. As should be apparent, his Lordship does not squander his time in games of chase. Your blindness, I'm afraid, had put you at a…disadvantage. He means to judge my reaction and not, I should think, my life."

In an attempt to look suave, calm, and otherwise capable as long as they planned on verbally sparring, Aurora propped herself against the nearest metal contraption of muggle make and made herself comfortable. It didn't exactly help the way she felt, which was rattled and painfully nervous, but she liked to think it made her look more badass.

Snape had a point, but the Astronomy professor didn't much like the smile creeping up his opponent's face.

"Your blindness puts you at a disadvantage," parroted Tasha coolly. "I was not referring to you." Her eyes flicked to Aurora.

Wait…loose ends meant _her?_ Voldemort wanted _her_ dead? Merlin's beard, what had she ever done to him? Besides maybe just teach at a school run by his enemy. But really, there was no way she was that important. She was just Aurora Sinistra, that dorky spinster of a professor that spent her nights pining over Gilderoy Lockhart and her days offending Severus Snape. She could _hardly_ be considered a threat, at least to anyone but herself.

Unless…something Snape had said clicked in her mind. His reaction.

…to her death. Or, the prospect of. …good luck with getting a rise out of him, then.

Holy stars above, they'd had it all wrong. Tasha hadn't tried to get to Sylvester to get to her to get to Snape; she had tried to get to Sylvester to get to her to get to Snape to get to her to get to Snape!

This wasn't about what he'd _done_—it was about what he _would_ do. …which wasn't much, she knew from experience.

In an instant, Snape was in front of her, his wand drawn. "I would advise you to leave those not concerned in this matter unharmed."

It was flattering, in a way. They actually thought they could do him one better through her. Little did they know, he couldn't have cared less. He was just the nasty goblin that took pleasure in insulting he rand occasionally snogging her in broom closets…it wasn't like he _cared_ for her or anything.

"_I_," announced Tasha, "will not be harming her."

There was a flash of recognition between them, and Aurora gawped. So that's how it was?

Poking her wand in his direction, the cat veela smiled smugly. "Do it."

"I will not."

Aurora didn't know whether to be confused or relieved.

"Do it, or face the consequences. The Dark Lord is not forgiving."

In hesitation, Snape turned to her, and she could see he meant to follow his instructions. The git. The tip of his want raised to her throat, and his expression was tight. She swallowed. His lips were on her ear.

"Defend yourself, Aurora," he whispered, so quietly she could barely make out the words despite his proximity.

She could have laughed. Fend him off? Engage in a duel with Severus Snape? That was rich. It wasn't like he was making any promises to go easy on her; he was being scrutinized for Merlin's sake. She would be out-dueled, no questions asked. What was he playing at?

Giving no other indication that he was even aware of what he'd just done, he leaned in, his face unnaturally blank. Though she couldn't believe what she was doing, Aurora slipped her wand from its place and felt its smoothness in her palm, tightening her grip as he jabbed at her carotid. The man was barking mad.

His lips parted. She shut her eyes, hard.

"_Avada—_"

"_Expelliarmus!_"

Before he'd even finished there was a white flash that sent him sprawling backwards, and it took a moment of blinking and breathing for her to realize that that flash had come from her. She'd just attacked a colleague. She'd just send a colleague flying across a rooftop, defenseless.

Judging by the fact that said colleague was Severus Snape and that she'd actually wanted to do that for a very, very, incredibly long time, it almost felt good.

But good God, he'd actually been about to do it. He'd said _avada_. Only a fool didn't know what came after that, and contrary to popular belief, she was not. What if she hadn't obeyed him? What if she hadn't readied her wand in time? What if she'd frozen up? He would've killed her.

That atrocious, arrogant, awful bugger had meant to kill her!

"Oh, goodie, fireworks!" piped Sylvester, squeezing his wriggling puffskein tighter, and it grounded her in time to realize that Snape was tangled painfully aroud some kind of metal object and Tasha was stalking towards her.

"Oh, geez, Sev, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

He glared across at her as he rolled to scoop up his wand, but Tasha reached her first. Something jumped from her stomach to her throat, and before anything could be said she was surprised to find two zaps of magic shimmering out of existence, nullified in collision. Realizing that one of those had been hers, she had to grin.

There was something to be said for remembering third year Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Before she had time to gloat, though, Snape was on his feet, and she had no clue whether he was on her side or not.

As it turned out, she didn't need to worry. Tasha spun and struck at him with something he only barely countered, sending it bouncing back until its potency faded.

What was this, musical sides?

"Nice trick," purred the cat veela. "But you're not one to overlook disarming an opponent, Severus. I gave you your chance. You've signed your death warrant."

Curses danced and glanced between them in a magical hurricane lasting only a few seconds before there was a pause, and Aurora had to roll her eyes. They did realize they were in a muggle district, right?

The Ministry was going to have lots of clean-up duty after this was overwith—they'd be so thrilled.

Conveniently, Tasha knew all about the crazy bat-flight thing; as interesting as it was to watch a couple of blurs blurrily bat each other around, Aurora had to wonder whether the cat veela actually thought that using one of Snape's own tricks against him was going to get her anywhere.

Because, from first-hand experience, she could say it wasn't.

Well, until Tasha proceeded with the most evil of her schemes, anyway, meaning grabbing Aurora and tipping her off the side of the building mid-flight.

As dirty and underhanded as it was, the Astronomy professor wasn't too keen on thinking such thoughts, as she was much too preoccupied in shrieking herself silly and plummeting towards the ground. Honestly, how in Merlin's name did she get herself into situations like these?

It was simple, really. All she had to do was stay away from Snape, and her propensity to attract massive amounts of danger would decrease ten-fold. Was that really so hard?

Apparently, it was.

She was still screeching unintelligibly by the time she realized that she was no longer falling. Black wool tickled at her numb cheecks through the wind shear, and she threw her arms around him before she could remember enough of herself to be embarrassed.

"God, I love you."

It just sort of…came out, and she had the good sense to clamp her mouth shut afterwards. Hopefully, he hadn't heard her. When she felt him tense under her, she knew she had on such luck.

Maybe she could play it off like a joke, something about her falling and him catching?

Almost disappointingly, he didn't have very much to say to the matter.

Of course, that could also have been because the moment he landed, dropping her onto the solid rooftop, Tasha took advantage of his distraction and the fact that his arms were full to send him crashing across metal and brick onto the other side of the building. Sweet of her. She'd planned the whole thing.

Well of course she had.

A couple more of her spells reached him before Aurora could even so much as locate her wand, and they hit him without resistance. He wasn't moving.

What hit her then was a sinking feeling like it was somehow her fault, but before she could take another step towards him Tasha stopped her with a look, making it very clear that if she moved, she died.

What now?

Instantaneously, a twist of the woman's wand had the unconscious Snape dragging upwards into the air by an ankle. It was painful to watch, but even worse to anticipate.

Sweeping the rooftop with a hurried glance, she found her wand lying where she'd dropped it not two feet away and made a note of it. This was going to get worse.

Naturally. What did the woman do then, of course, but fling him off the roof. Really, it should have been expected. How redundant could a person get? It was like her signature move or something, like she'd rather throw someone off a building than deal with pronouncing a few syllables.

How creative.

And Sylvester just sat there, petting his puffskein in wonder like it was a bloody film.

The second the woman looked away to do her bit of flinging business, Aurora dove for her wand. She already knew what she had to do because, to be honest, she'd thought of it the second Tasha had Snape in the air. Call her paranoid, but she had a feeling this was going to happen.

There was only one way to catch something that was falling through the air. She'd seen enough Quidditch to know about it, and it wasn't just as simple as spongifying the ground, because…try explaining to the muggles why their thoroughfare was turned into jelly for three weeks before Joe from the Ministry came to fix it. It wouldn't go over well.

It had to be the adrenaline, because there was no way she would have even just barely entertained the thought of doing this an hour ago.

Thoroughly cursing her brother's wife every which was from Sunday in every language she knew for making her do this—had she mentioned how much she _despised _heights?—Aurora clambered for her wand, shot a vague "_expelliarmus!_" in the direction of where she thought Tasha would be, pictured the broomcloset she'd so recently been snogged in, and took a running jump yelling "Accio broomstick!"

Not her brightest idea, she had to admit, but she was a bit short on time at the moment and it wasn't like she could just sit down and think it all out.

For the second time that night, she was falling fast—as if she hadn't enjoyed the first enough. There was an instant of doubt where she wasn't sure that what she'd done was going to work, but then there was the crash of glass somewhere below her (the already abused window, no doubt) and something, a hilt, caught in her hand that she kicked into a solid dive.

There was no _knees bent, elbows out, weight on palms_. There was no snarky Potions Master to hold onto the handle as she mounted and kicked off. There was only the thought that if she didn't do this, the _one_ thing she hated most in all of the world, then that same snarky Potions Master that had held the shaft and chastised her for not paying attention was going to die.

The irony was not lost on her.

In fact, by now she was convinced that she was just as mad as he was. Willingly jumping off a building proved that brilliantly.

With the velocity that she was pitching downwards, she couldn't tell if the wetness creeping into her hairline was the wind or the emotion. Frankly, she didn't really think it mattered.

For making her do this, she was going to _kill_ him. She was going to save him, and then she was going to _kill_ him.

Somehow, Aurora found the dexterity to catch up to him and buck her flying death contraption into a straight and stable ascent; she had no idea what she would have done had he not already been half-awake, but she had to thank her lucky stars that he was able to kind of loop himself around her back before she started upwards again because having five arms was just shy of her qualifications.

"Guess I do pay attention in class," she hummed over her shoulder, too relieved not to rub his face in it. She was not above bravado when the situation called for it. "Oh, and I have heard of an accio charm, by the way."

Sweet, sweet revenge.

Behind her, he groaned. That, coupled with his hold on her hips, was a feeling she couldn't deny. Okay, so what if Snape was a nasty goblin, she was past denying what he did to her. It had reached the point where he was required to fess up as well; he'd kissed her, and Merlin willing she'd be speaking to him about that later.

Unfortunately, Tasha didn't wait for them to reach the roof to join them. A ragged flapping and a flash that blazed past their heads gave her away, and Aurora passed her wand back to Snape in the time it took them to arrive across from a still dazed-looking Sylvester.

Finding Snape's wand amid the fray meant resorting to her hands and knees, but as soon as she recovered it he took her cue to switch (before he broke hers: the poor thing had probably never endured such heavy magic) and performed a simultaneous tossing event that had her scattering to find where hers rolled off to as he caught his with grace.

Without fail, he was infuriating even when he wasn't trying.

On finally procuring the pesky thing, she was just in time to see them standing stiffly and, if she didn't know any better, staring into each other's eyes.

Okay. Weird.

What, was he planning on frivolously throwing himself at her, too? Was that his idea of a well-thought-out attack?

Except, that didn't make sense. Even for _Snape._

Legilimency seemed like her best-bet answer, but…well, that didn't make sense, either. Considering it was what had gotten them into this whole mess, anyway.

"Larry," proposed Sylvester as she rounded on him, "my wife seems to be in a spot of trouble."

No, really?

"I'd say she's given _us_ the trouble."

"Come now, don't be rude. There's no need for that. Don't you love the view?"

…there was no helping him. He really was up there with the clouds.

Another voice startled her, and she briefly contemplated tackling her brother's wife before she turned in time to see the woman nodding civilly at Snape.

"It seems I was wrong about you, Severus."

…um, wait, what? Where was this absurdity coming from? A trick?

"Indeed," was all he said.

It was rubbish. There was no way. As in, beyond insanity. Pure poppycock. Of all the brainless ideas…

Except, well, maybe it wasn't.

The woman slid her wedding ring right off her finger, glanced around as if to say _sorry about the mess_, and vanished on the spot when she apparated.

…alright, what in Merlin's beard had she missed?

"Sev—" she started, but he stopped her with a look. A look that quickly faded into exhaustion as he sank down near where Sylvester was kneeling and sighed.

She tried again. "Is it—?"

"Yes."

"But…how—"

"My talent extends beyond the ability to sustain your constant torment."

"You mean temptation?"

"Nonsense."

She smiled at his brashness, taking comfort in the fact that she now knew, or suspected, what was behind it. "Right. You know, you're so telling me later. I mean, about what happened."

He quirked an eyebrow, but when he looked her in the eye she could tell he was amused. "Undoubtedly."


	12. Pisces: The Exchange

And so, here we are at the end. This is the last chapter, guys. If it had been posted when I intended, it would be Christmas right now. How appropriate. But, best laid plans and all that jazz, so here you go. Hope you like it anyway, and thank you (no seriously, THANK YOU) to everyone who has come this far. You guys are simply amazing, and I am convinced that without you fanfiction would cease to exist. Really. Enjoy!

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><p>12. Pisces: The Exchange<p>

Having been awoken, quite rudely, by an obnoxiously loud voice attempting to sing something that sounded suspiciously like Deck the Halls, Aurora was given the chance to examine what, exactly, was wrong with her life.

Besides the obvious. Because if being kissed by Snape and almost killed by her brother's wife wasn't weird enough, she had friends like Pomona Sprout to govern her existence.

Friends who, as it happened, enjoyed bursting into her room at nine in the morning on a holiday and _singing._

For half a second, she contemplated throwing her pillow. "Mona, can you _not_ give me your rendition of a mermaid out of water and just…go away?"

"Good morning!" chirped Sprout. "Oh, don't be silly. Happy, happy, happy Christmas! Up, up, up!"

She was in the middle of dragging her quilt over her face when she froze. "Er—hang on, did you say it's Christmas?"

It had only been a day since they'd returned from Albany, and she'd taken the opportunity to throw herself into bed for the next ten years. Apparently, she'd forgotten to take into account an international holiday. Somehow.

Sprout gave her a skeptical glance as she thrust open the curtains, but it was Nigel that answered her. "She did indeed say it's Christmas! Best holiday there is, in my opinion."

In Aurora's opinion, not so much. Christmas was a dreaded holiday because it meant picking out gifts for people she severely disliked. Like Snape. It was a vocation with which she was exceptionally unsuccessful.

This year, however, she planned on being at least marginally acceptable in her level of conquest. Not that she cared, of course, because the fact of the matter was that she never really stood a chance, but at least she would thrive in the knowledge of having triumphed over Snape. Because the man wouldn't know a suitable and stylish gift even if it clobbered him from behind.

Truly, she surpassed him in the expertise of present-finding.

Before she shoved his (perfectly wrapped, of course) gift in his face, or anyone else's for that matter, there was another affair at hand. Namely, what in Merlin's name had happened in Albany.

Mumbling an excuse to her friend, Aurora snatched Snape's prize and trundled down towards the dungeons in her pajamas—because so help her, she was going to enjoy herself on a day that meant no classes and excessive feasting. She had no doubt the bat of a man would comment on it, but, she decided, let him.

Her appearance was too far gone to bother with such fancy strides towards improvement, and that included getting dressed.

The honestly surprising aspect was that, when she slipped through the Slytherin common room to knock on his door, he actually answered it. He swung it open with such graceful motion that she was initially impressed, but his resulting sneer quickly made up for that.

"Can I help you, Professor Sinistra?" he snapped. …not even a pajama quip.

At that, she had to give herself a moment of pause. He'd never been so formal with her—at least, not lately, at it was a little disconcerting. Why was he being so…weird? Not that he wasn't normally weird, but this went beyond that.

She would've thought that, having snogged in a broom closet, they would have been past the whole formality thing.

"If years of Pomona and Sylvester haven't helped, I doubt you could. But besides that, I'm here on a matter of debatable Christmas spirit." She smiled sweetly, waving his gift in the air. "I, unlike you, am a kind and considerate individual."

A single, disdainful glance told her he was disinterested in her offer and preferred to be left alone. Which, naturally, she refused to do on general principle. It was her job to keep him on his toes and bother the stuffing out him, after all.

"Look, lighten up, will you? You said you'd tell me later, and now is later. So, spill. What did you do to her, because seriously, whatever it was definitely worked."

Begrudgingly, still glaring, he opened the door a bit wider, but he still didn't move. "I do not recall ever having given consent for such a notion."

"Oh, really, does it matter? I mean, besides, I even went to the trouble of getting you something. You so can't deny me for that."

She pushed past him, sauntering her way into his room, and was once again plunged into a state of awe at the absolute ordinary and orderly nature of his quarters. It was so unlike him, and yet so like him all the same.

And, dear Merlin, was that a tray of _breakfast_ sitting on the table next to his head?

"Severus, don't tell me you're doing the whole breakfast in bed thing…I mean, it's Christmas. Come on, I know it's a royal pain in the ass and all, but if I can drag myself out into the world then so can you. Don't be such a recluse."

With what looked like mounting frustration, he shut the door and faced her. Oddly enough, he didn't really look at her. Oh dear, not this again. It was primarily foreboding of a _look_, the next time he actually found it in himself to wipe the general nastiness off his expression and meet her eye.

"Must I dictate to you the simplistic details of what is clearly a very arbitrary concept? I'm afraid that what you may call your intellect is surpassed by even the mind of a first-year student."

Peeved, she redirected the aim of her sharp glance from his bookshelves to his face. "Severus, please. One minute she's trying to hex us to death and throw us off the side of a building, and the next she's shaking your hand like you won some award. What's up with that?"

Somehow, it was a touch suspicious. Based on the fact that this was Snape, she was on all accounts justified.

"I trust you're familiar with legilimency?" he droned irritably.

"You mean what got us into trouble in the first place, or your reputation for getting inside people's heads?" She sat herself regally on the edge of his bed, daring him to say anything about it.

To his credit, he only stared in sneer-worthy resignation. "Neither, although I have no doubt that your knowledge in that regard his boundless. Because you are incapable of making the required connections, allow me to explain. Legilimency, as it stands, is not limited to the retrieval of information; it may also be implemented for coercion or the imposition of certain pieces of knowledge. Voldemort himself used this aspect as a tactic to, shall we say, drive his victims to insanity. Do you follow?"

"No, actually, could you repeat everything you just said, only without the malicious, evil bastard undertone? Because that would be great." Reaching across as he pressed his lips together in dissatisfaction, she selected a scone off his tray and casually munched as he seethed, cascading a waterfall of crumbs across her lap. His eyes flicked across to her for an instant, mostly staying trained on what was probably the most boring floor in all of existence.

Honestly, she didn't know how he could stand it. …or on it.

But, uneventfulness of his floor aside, he was continuing to remain aggravatingly silent. Naturally. As if she'd expected him to be even remotely helpful.

"Right," she huffed. "So, what you're saying is…you planted information inside her head? Like, fake memories?"

"Yes."

"Okay…creepy." Aurora scrunched her nose at the idea, popping the last of the scone into her mouth. "So then what did—"

"She holds the belief that I have…_proven_ myself, in a manner."

Though she didn't like the sound of that, she got the distinct feeling that he didn't want to tell her the whole story. And it wasn't in his usual way of saying as little as possible in hopes that she would promptly leave him alone—no, this was more than that.

"I take it she thinks you murdered me before her eyes or something, right? Just say it."

"Yes."

So now they were down to monosyllables. Lovely.

"Alright, so then riddle me this: _why_ could you not have done that _before_? Like, say, before she decided it was a brilliant idea to tip me off the side of a very tall building?"

"Modification of memory is a tricky business," he snarled at her. The amount of venom was actually a little surprising. "Such a matter was employed only as a last resort because, _if_ you hadn't failed to notice, although the practice is not apparent to the victim, it is fully traceable by any other party if done incorrectly."

Well, at least she'd fished more than one word out of him.

"And, uh…you did it correctly this time, then?"

"Let us hope."

Right. Very confidence-instilling.

"Oh, so we're just fine, then. No worries about potential death, here."

He sneered, and she took that as her cue to hop up and be on her way. It wasn't like she'd ever actually engage him in civil conversation or anything—she didn't really know what she'd been expecting, but she liked to think she might've been awarded some kind of explanation.

Apparently not. Apparently, even that was beneath him.

Why did she bother, again?

Shoving his crinkled present at his chest, Aurora prided herself in avoiding his look and picking her way to the door in relative poise. Obvoiusly, this wasn't going anywhere. She could very well waste her time in a much more entertaining fashion in the Great Hall, with bacon, than have to put up with his excessive snark.

She could honestly say that bacon was a better conversation starter than Snape.

Plus, it tasted better. …not that she wanted him to taste like bacon.

Okay, maybe that last bit was an exaggeration. But that didn't make spending time with him any more productive. She might as well have been talking to the boring and uneventful floor that suspended his room.

Because, according to Snape, a full-on make-out session was equivalent to perhaps shaving in the morning. It wasn't as if it required further examination or anything, because that was just preposterous. Of course, he could go around shoving his tongue down other people's throats wherever and whenever he wanted. It wasn't like the matter begged for commentary, because that would be absurd.

It was probably his new way of telling her he hated her—like some twisted play to mess with her, to get her to think he liked her only to torture her by never bringing it up and pretending it never happened. Clearly, it was all part of his evil plan—his newest edition to his inner nasty goblin approach.

Or, maybe she was overthinking it.

Her hand was already fumbling at the doorknob when he sighed laboriously behind her, but she clamped down on her desire to turn and look at him. Don't pause. Don't pause. Just keep walking. Keep walking. Don't—

"Curious, but the name _Larry_ does not strike me as…representative of your stature."

She paused.

"You _really_ want to bring that up?" _Now?_ Truly, it was the worst pickup line in the world.

Silence.

She let go of the doorknob. More silence.

"O…kay, well, if you must know…it was when I was, I dunno, eight I think. My aunt took me to a muggle doctor while we were on holiday in Ireland. Sylvester was probably four, and he decided it was the greatest thing in the world that Dr. Mugglesworth thought I had laryngitis because of this chocolate frog that…well, let's just say that chocolate frogs and I don't have the best history. Anyway, he anointed it my new nickname. Except, well, he couldn't really pronounce it at the time, so it turned into Larry. …happy?"

Snape raised an eyebrow at the question as if happiness was the most outlandish concept he'd ever encountered. Knowing him, it probably was. Real emotion must have been such a quandary.

"How mundane," he said simply.

"Well, what did you expect?" After having said it, she reflected that he was probably right. Considering this was _her _life and that her brother couldn't _possibly_ get any weirder, his nicknaming her Larry due to a case of misjudged laryngitis was about as normal as it could get. It was almost yawn-worthy, by her standards. "Okay, okay, nevermind, just…c'mon, really? Like, you could've just asked me to stay and have breakfast with you like a normal person. "

Except, oh yeah—Snape wasn't normal. He was _so_ abnormal, in fact, that it kind of just fit right in with all the rest of her mess. Maybe it was a little comforting, too, like she could always count on him to be strange even at the worst of times.

"Sylvester, by the way, is fine, thank you for asking. He was released from St. Mungo's late yesterday, just in case you wanted to know." Not that he cared. He was too _abnormal_ for that.

Suppressing a sudden urge to throw herself at him and feel, as she had the other night, the length of his body, pressed against his front as they sailed towards the roof, Aurora bit her lip and thoroughly stomped on the feeling. It would do her no good.

A hopeful voice told her that he must've spared her life that night for _some_ reason, while a sensible one replied that he'd have a hard time explaining to Dumbledore how she'd died. …he probably just didn't want to lose a sparring-partner—Merlin knew how difficult it would be for him to acquire another that was willing to actually put up with him.

Because who best to pick on and verbally abuse but Aurora Auriga Sinistra?

"Aurora," reiterated Snape, and she was so glad for the regression to first-name basis it was almost frightening. "I'm given the privilege of watching you eat on what surely rivals a daily basis. Inviting you to _breakfast_ is hardly condusive of an exciting and fulfilling prospect."

Faltering, she found the resolve to sniff when she couldn't quite figure out where he was going with this. Damn him for being so cryptic. He practically made a career out of it, second only to driving her nuts, and she'd therefore in turn transformed Snape-deciphering into a tertiary career of her own. …not that she was very good at the deciphering bit, just…reasonably better than most.

Which was actually a surprisingly large accomplishment, all things considered.

"So, er…what _is_ an exciting and fulfilling prospect?" Because _Snape_ and _excitement_ did not seem like two concepts that could readily coexist.

This being _Snape_, he successfully ignored _all_ key points of her question in order to blatantly contradict it. First and foremost, he was an expert in the art of exasperation.

"Hardly the acts of mastication and digestion."

There was a profound sense of Deja-vu accompanying his statement. As in: no, _really?_ She severely doubted he could come up with anything that could even _possibly_ be the slightest bit more redundant and uninformative.

"I know you aren't the most _verbose_ person, but you could at least _try_ to be a little more forthcoming, Sev. Common courtesy never killed anyone before."

As if he knew the meaning of the word.

"Courtesy, Aurora, is an overused societal invention pertaining to the need for manipulation and otherwise acting on the duplicitous intention of public disparagement sans consequence. In a word, it is depravity, poorly concealed though it may be."

"God, you really are messed up, aren't you? It's called being _polite_, you should _try_ it."

"I find that veracity is of a greater value."

"Geez, are you always so paranoid? Wait, what am I saying, of course you are. Y'know, sometimes people are nice to other people because—get this—they're _nice people_."

"Perhaps," he rounded on her, "you lack the mental processes required to consider the _consequences_ before placing your trust in others."

"Merlin's beard, Severus, what _consequences?_ Well, of course people aren't going to be nice to _you_—or if they are then they're lying. Or they're deranged, in Miss Parkinson's case. But my point is, you give people no _reason_ to be genuinely nice to you. You're positively atrocious to anyone you come into contact with."

He didn't even blink. "Those who are not, as you say, 'nice to me' do so because I do not humor them as you do."

"Is that what it is? Alright then, if you're so smart, then what, pray tell, is the real reason that people are nice to me?"

"Pity, I should think."

Oh, right. Like people didn't pity him, too. Derisively, she snorted.

…or was that just her? Maybe she was the only one that actually sympathized with his incorrigible, bitter cynicism? It made sense, given his overall revolt-factor. At best, he was appalling.

Good God, though, was she really the only person that cared about his well-being (on good days, anyway)? The man _seriously_ needed new friends.

Friends at all, really.

"Yes, because you're so admirable. Did you want to do something or not?"

"If by that you mean to imply the possibility of my having a _desire_ to spend time with you, I must inform you that it is an ill-begotten practice to deceive oneself."

It was like he was just _trying_ to contradict her, like that was his sole purpose in life. She could have, in that moment, truly physically transformed him into a newt without a single regret. Maybe then he'd better resemble what he actually was—a slimy, nasty reptile of a man.

"For Merlin's sake, don't tell me I'm going to have to use _legilimency_ to get it out of you."

His next sneer was his most dubious yet. Obviously, according to him, it was too far-fetched an idea to even _entertain_ that she could, through her natural ability, best him.

Which she wasn't exactly in disagreement with, except that he couldn't know that. Because that didn't do very much to prove her point, or to drive this out of him.

"Listen to me, Severus. You kissed me. _Kissed_ me. Don't you dare try telling me that was all my fault, or that it was all in my head. I know I can be a little daft sometimes, but I'm not _completely_ inept. You know just as well as I do whatever this _thing_ is between us, that we've been doing, and you're prepared to just let that go? To just sweep it under the rug and pretend it never existed? I mean, seriously, do you see what's wrong with that?"

She was starting to believe it was a lost and hopeless cause, but he was far too infuriating for her to simply give up.

"As much as you may consider it so," he began, and she bristled. Her thoughts revolted with _oh, here we go again,_ and the violent tumult that shook its way through her mind had her wand raised before she could even start to think better of it. "Your—"

She cut him off abruptly, thrusting the twelve inch mahogany up towards his face. "_Legilimens._"

Honestly, she didn't really expect it to necessarily work. It was more that she needed to get his attention, to make him understand how dead serious she was about this, and how absolutely fed up she was with being messed with. And she was just so_ mad_.

For a split second, their eyes met, and she saw the darkness leave his just before she was thrust into them.

Wait…_what?_ It had worked? She found herself disoriented, blundering through a patchwork of images, of senses, so vast and fleeting that she felt like she was falling through them at an almost breakneck speed. The foreignness of it was, needless to say, overwhelming. She needed a sense of organization, and fast, because it was like drowning and suffocating all at once under the weight and pressure of his every thought.

Fighting to slow herself down, she reached out with everything she had and latched onto the nearest sensation. Immediately, she was catapulted into a scene in which, she realized, this had happened to him before.

She he _had_ been giving lessons to the Potter kid, just like she'd earlier deduced. …and the kid had actually given him a taste of his own medicine, so to speak. Ha. She was finding more reasons to like the poor boy every year.

Combatively, the scene closed up around her, and a sudden force she suspected had everything to do with his resistance threw her fiercely back into the void. Again, she reached out, trying to evade whatever was encroaching on her.

This time, it was quite a bit more dated. Lily Evans stood before her, grinning secretively at the expense of what Aurora suspected was a shared joke. She was stricken by what she saw as a very mature beauty, even at such a young age, and she didn't miss the obvious similarities to herself (besides, of course, the beauty)—the red hair, the green eyes. She knew that it was probably just Snape's perception of the memory that was giving Lily such ethereal elegance, but it unnerved her.

And then she was clamped down on and pitched mercilessly back, scrambling for a hold as something much stronger was sucking and pulling her towards reality.

She flung herself into the nearest pulse of consciousness, ripping into a new stream in which she saw herself. God, did she always look so…so…_adorable?_ That couldn't be right. Was her hair always like that?

To be fair, she saw herself near every day in a mirror. She ought to be one to know.

Snape was saying something to her in the memory, something ugly, and she could see herself lashing out against him. But she could feel it in the surrounding vibe of sensitivity that his thoughts were—had been—elsewhere. There was this sense of fondness, of appreciation…like he only ever said anything hostile because he knew she could take it, and like he admired her for being able to do so. There was a twinge of something all too familiar in all of it, something that went beneath all the bickering, and she knew she'd felt it before too.

This battle of wits—it was their ritual. It was theirs. It was this utterly romantic sense of feeling each other out, of testing each other and stating opposites, and it belonged to them. The only problem was: it was holding them back.

Dear God, he was in love with her.

…as if she hadn't known it all along.

More quickly than she would have liked, he caught up with her and swiftly shoved her out, twisting her firmly back into her own thoughts on her own feet where he turned the tables and joined her, sifting through her existence and drinking it in.

"That was a very rash and dangerous thing to do," he cautioned her darkly, and she heard it in his thoughts too, close as they were to hers. "_Foolish_, Aurora."

His breath and the sound of his voice gave his position away. She was momentarily stunned by how close he was, but that was before he crashed his lips into hers.

"You are," he mouthed in between kisses, "without doubt, an _imbecile_."

She might have taken offense to the comment, if he didn't have his thoughts all tangled up in hers. As it was, she recognized what he really meant as: _Aurora, you could have rendered yourself a brainless vegetable or, at best, injured either of us due to your lack of experience_. Which was a good bit more explanatory and a tad nicer, but didn't really make her feel all that much better.

"You're…not so sharp yourself, sometimes," she exhaled.

It was a crazy sensation; his mind had released its grip on hers to where she could move and think freely, and yet there was still this weird sort of connection between them that had their thoughts ebbing and bumping into each other.

He was completely aware of what he was doing, his hands on her hips and his mouth devouring hers, and it didn't take too long before their bodies and their minds sought more. Everything was sensation, and she stopped trying to distinguish between what was hers and what was his. It was just _feeling_ and _more feeling_, and that was somehow okay.

Strange, but it was something she'd hardly known she'd wanted until it was already happening.

A thought occurred to her, though—a question that she could not let go unanswered. With the utmost delicacy, she nudged it across to him.

_What about Lily?_

Because there was no denying it, no getting past it: everything he'd done with his life up until that point had been for her. How, how in sweet Merlin's name, could she—_her_, the dorky, clumsy Astronomy professor—ever compare?

What he tried to articulate back to her was something she knew he'd never be able to say. She wasn't even sure it was translation-compatible into the English language.

He'd always love Lily—in the way he'd never stopped, never questioned. He'd continue to protect what was left of her, continue to dedicate himself to something for which he'd always taken a part in the blame. But that wasn't all.

She was not, or was no longer, the end-all be-all. Instead, she was the respect he kept for her and the gratitude he felt for her phase in his life, a memory that he would keep alive, but no longer a weight that hung over him.

Aurora was dually astonished to know that it was _her_ that had been his source of strength to arrive above the hurt and regret.

The ghost of Lily Potter was overcome in the face of stability, peace of mind, and gratification.

For around a minute, it was all Aurora could do to breathe. In fact, she wasn't even sure she was doing _that_ properly. She was pretty sure that if it wasn't for his grasp around her waist that she might have taken a nose-dive for his uninteresting and non-eventful floor.

At his withdrawal from her mind she was astoundingly grateful, because she didn't know how much more she could take before she was liable to spontaneously combust.

Severus Snape had, in not so many words, just confessed his undying love for her.

She had to check to make sure she was still awake. Somehow, though, she doubted she had this vivid or overactive of an imagination.

"_Merlin_," she said disbelievingly to his neck.

"Indeed."

"No, I mean…_God_, you're actually in love with me. Like, you admit it."

"Yes."

"And…me too."

"Obviously."

Well, at least he was the same person. That could get interesting.

"Er—but, I mean, what now?"

Yeah, her head was still spinning. She wasn't really sure she could quite wrap her mind all the way around it, just yet.

"I imagine it would be prudent to…indulge in what festivities the holiday dictates."

"You mean tracking down the nearest mistletoe, or…opening presents?"

In answer, he retrieved the package—a testament to her impeccable wrapping abilities, of course—that she'd shoved at him earlier in the visit and also, to her surprise, introduced to her a smaller, more neatly wrapped parcel.

"Whoa, hang on…you _got_ me something?" She couldn't contain a knowing grin, but he only met her look of incredulity with a patient nod.

Naturally, by default, she'd gotten him _The Taming of the Shrew_—just to rub the whole Shakespeare thing in his face as much as possible. Sensing her motive, he sent her a displeased look, to which she responded by gazing back as innocently as possible.

What she didn't expect, however, and what she really should have guessed, was for him to have been so relentlessly and predictably ruthless.

He'd given her a hairbrush.

The goblin.

"So I guess you think you're clever?" she smirked.

"It would suggest, given your appearance, that you are in need of one."

"Been working on that line, have you?" She shook her head as she approached him, knowing this was what she got for involving herself with the world's most pigheaded and socially ill-adapted man. "Sev, you're incorrigible."

Punctuating the line with a light kiss to the cheek, she liked to think he looked on her a little more kindly. He was unyielding, and she thoroughly intended to kiss it out of him.

"And I suppose you live in the delusion that you are not?" he replied, almost huskily.

"Of course not." She smiled sweetly up at him, toying with his collar. "I know when to quit. Just, I don't hold back where you're concerned because, face it, you hardly give me any reason."

Stealing across the distance between them, he molded himself to her in a single, heated collision of teeth and lips. "Nor do I intend to."

She had to laugh because it was just like him.

…but as long as he kept this up, whatever this was—so long as he made an effort like _this_, like he was doing now, to repent for his lifelong commitment to bastarddom, it was something she could most definitely get used to.

Or, judging by how his movements were starting to make her head swim, maybe not.

But she couldn't deny that she might actually have Lord Voldemort and his cat-veela to thank for this one. Because what had started as a trap, as a ploy for her life and for judgment of character, had ultimately led to what could potentially have been the most destructive and formidable "couple" in the whole school. Possibly the whole world.

There was no denying that he was an evil, nasty goblin. That much she knew him too well to ignore. But apart from that, he was _her_ goblin.

Oh, she could _not_ wait to see the look on Pomona's face.


End file.
